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Copyright, 1892, by 

CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY. 


All rights reserved. 


THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS, 
RAHWAY, N. J. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


I. 

Wearied by the unusual prolongation of his 
consultations on the gray and melancholy March 
afternoon on which our story opens, Dr. Moragas 
threw himself back in his armchair, drew a deep 
breath of relief, smoothed his curly white hair 
with one hand, and reached the other mechanic- 
ally toward the latest number of the Revue de 
Psychiatrie , that lay, with its leaves yet uncut, on 
the table beside unopened letters and newspapers 
still in their wrappers. 

But before he could slip the ivory paper knife 
between the first pages of the magazine, the door 
opposite his writing table opened noisily, and a 
child, between three and four years old, brimming 
over with laughter, bounded into the room, clap- 
ping her hands joyously, and did not pause in her 
giddy career until she had clasped her arms round 
the doctors knee. 


2 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“Nen6,” he cried, taking her up in his arms, “it 
is not two o’clock yet. Come, you must run 
away again. Who told you to come here when I 
am busy?” 

The child laughed more merrily than before. 
Her face was a poem of joy. Her black and 
sparkling eyes, dancing with bewitching mis- 
chievousness, contrasted with the somewhat 
chlorotic delicacy of her complexion. Between 
her fresh lips peeped the pink tip of her tongue. 
Her straight fair hair hung down over her fore- 
head and fell like a mass of spun silk over her 
shoulders. As the doctor lifted her up she tried 
to pull his hair and beard, provoking the pre- 
tended scolding which always followed similar 
attempts. 

From the moment of the child’s entrance the 
room, lighted by two windows which admitted 
the mild light of a Marinedan sun, seemed to 
lose something of its severe aspect. Nen£ was 
familiar with every corner of this austere region, 
and knew well in what direction to turn her 
glance and point her imperious little forefinger, 
as children are wont to do when they wish to 
signify the form their caprice has taken. It was 
not to the thick curtains, not to the high book- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


3 


case, through whose glass doors could be caught 
here and there the red gleam of some resplen- 
dent binding; still less to the lower shelves of 
this bookcase where, brilliantly clean and care- 
fully arranged, shone the sets of surgical instru- 
ments — trocars, bistouris, forceps, and scissors of 
mysterious form, in their shagreen and velvet 
cases. 

Nor was the child attracted by the dreadful 
figures, illustrating the nervous and venous sys- 
tems, which looked at her with sinister glance 
from their white eyes, fleshless and destitute of 
eyelids nor by the curious chair, which could be 
disjointed and made to take any desired position ; 
nor by the large basin surrounded with sponges 
and vessels of phenic acid, nor by the shapeless- 
looking objects of india rubber or of oilcloth; nor 
by anything, in short, which, properly speaking, 
belonged to the healing science. No; the mo- 
ment she crossed the threshold of the room her 
glance had darted to a corner to the left of the 
doctor's chair, where, suspended from 'the wall by 
silken cords, hung a light basket lined with satin. 
It was the famous baby-weighing machine, which 
affords the best method discovered of ascertain- 
ing whether the milk of the nurse contains cer- 


4 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


tain elements, nourishes the infant or the con- 
trary, and in its padded hollow, as an image or 
symbol of the living child, was a chromo, a 
naked pasteboard baby, in the attitude of stoop- 
ing forward, with its hands resting on the bottom 
of the basket, its chubby cheeks raised and its 
enormous blue eyes wi'de open. This chromo 
was the idol of Nen6, who would stretch her 
hands up toward it crying: “Child heaven! child 
heaven!” ‘‘Come, let us hear,” the doctor 
would say in answer, “what is it you want the 
child of heaven to bring you to-day?” There 
would be a few moments of doubt, of hesitation, 
of struggle between various temptations, all 
equally powerful. “Tandies, tates, amonds — 
no, no, bittits — A suck-suck.” The suck-suck 
would finally gain the day and the doctor, rising 
quickly, by a dexterous feat of juggling would 
convey from the pocket of his dressing-gown to 
the bottom of the basket a piece of pine-nut 
paste. Then he would lift the child up in his 
arms, and a series of joyful cries and bursts of 
laughter on both sides would follow the discov- 
ery of the desired dainty. 

Some comedy of this kind was no doubt in 
course of preparation, for Nen6 was already 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


5 


directing her steps toward the weighing machine, 
when a servant-man appeared at a side door 
which led to the waiting room, but, seeing the 
doctor with the child in his arms he stopped 
hesitatingly. Moragas, annoyed at the interrup- 
tion, frowned and said : 

“What do you want?” 

“A man who has just come He says if you 

would see him he would take it as a great favor; 
that he came before, but there were so many peo- 
ple ” 

The physician raised his eyes and glanced at 
the clock. It still wanted five minutes to two. 
A slave to his duty Moragas said resignedly: 

“Very well, let him come in. Nene, run and 
play with your nurse. The child of heaven will 
give you nothing now. You know that when 
there are patients ” 

Nen6 obeyed very much against her will. 
Even before he had turned round after closing 
the door behind the child, the doctor guessed that 
his tardy patient was at the door. An indefi- 
nable sort of gasp, a perceptible difficulty in 
breathing, betrayed his presence; and the physi- 
cian, facing about, saw the man standing before 
him, bending forward and pressing his greasy 


6 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


broad-brimmed green hat with both hands 
against his stomach. 

Moragas muttered a “Sit down,” and walked 
to a chair, settling his gold eyeglasses nervously 
on his nose, and growing suddenly grave. His 
eyes fell upon the sick man with the weight of a 
hammer, and the cords of memory vibrated sud- 
denly and swiftly to the thought : “Where have 
I seen that face? 

The man gave no salutation. Without laying 
aside the hat he sat down awkwardly in the chair 
to which the doctor had motioned him. Even 
after he had seated himself his breathing still 
continued to produce the same hoarse, broken 
murmur, like a sort of simmering in the lungs. 
To the doctor’s first questions — routine questions 
clearly and directly put — he answered in a con- 
fused and reticent manner, dominated, perhaps, 
by that vague fear and desire to dissimulate, 
which is characteristic of the lower classes when 
consulting a physician, while at the same time he 
expressed himself in choicer language than, from 
his appearance, one would have expected him to 
use. Moragas urged his questions, now com- 
pletely absorbed in his task. “Is it long since 
you began to have those bilious attacks? Are the 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


7 


attacks of sleeplessness frequent? Do you have 
them every night? or only occasionally? Do 
you work in an office ; are you obliged to sit for 
hours at a time?" 

“No, Seflor,” answered the patient, in a slow, 
dull voice. “I do very little work; I lead an 
easy enough life; I mean, I am not obliged to 
work every day.” There seemed nothing strange 
in these words and yet they sounded strangely to 
Moragas, reawakening his curiosity and his desire 
to remember where and when he had seen this man. 
He fixed his eyes again, more searchingly than be- 
fore, on the patient’s face. In reality his appear- 
ance accorded ill with the aristocratic affirmation 
of leading an easy life which he had just made. 
His attire was the cheap and somber attire of 
the humblest rank of the middle class, where it 
blends into the lowest rank of the people — a 
soiled and worn felt hat, a suit of dingy black, 
composed of an ill-fitting shooting-jacket and 
tight trousers, a cravat of shiny black silk, care- 
lessly knotted, a shirt of three or four days’ wear, 
a silver watch-chain, calf-skin boots broken and 
unpolished, and in his hands absolutely nothing 
— neither umbrella nor cane. Wealthy people 
for whom, by the Divine favor, manna rains 


8 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


down from heaven, do not generally go about 
clad in this style. 

“According to that you take no exercise at 
all?” said Moragas, fancying he was conducting 
the medical examination, but in reality following 
the lead of his excited curiosity. 

“As exercise, yes,” responded the man, in a 
non-committal voice. “I walk a great deal. At 
times I walk two or three leagues, without feel- 
ing tired. I do some work, too, in the house. I 
am no idler.” 

“I have not said that you were an idler,” 
replied the physician, in a severe voice. “I 
must know your way of life if I am to tell what 
is wrong with you inside. Come, lie down 
there,” he added, pointing to the broad divan 
standing between the two windows of the office. 

The patient obeyed, and Moragas approached 
him and, unbuttoning the last few buttons of his 
waistcoat, laid the open palm of his left hand on 
the region of the hypochondrium. Then, with 
the knuckles of the right he quickly performed 
the operation of percussion, for the purpose of 
ascertaining how far the dull sound peculiar to 
the liver extended. While he was engaged in 
this task, his mobile face assumed an earnest 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


9 


and intelligent expression, while that of the 
patient revealed anxiety, anguish, almost. “You 
can rise now,” Moragas at last said, returning to 
his chair, humming a tune, a mechanical act with 
him. 

He fixed his glance again on the patient, this 
time he auscultated and felt, so to say, his physi- 
ognomy. Moragas, although he held vitalism in 
supreme contempt, was not the materialist physi- 
cian who looks at the outside only. Without 
paying any attention to that scholastic imp 
called vital force , no one conceded greater im- 
portance than he to the mysterious psycho-phys- 
ical activities, unexplainable by the merely phys- 
iological processes. “In the brain or in the soul 
(we will not dispute about terms), is the human 
pendulum,” he would say. In many physical 
ailments he saw what a learned and sagacious 
observer must see — the reflex of secret and 
familiar moral states which are not always consid- 
ered, because not even he who suffers from them 
has always the courage to reveal them. At the 
same time Moragas admitted the converse of this 
view, and sometimes cured melancholy and anger 
with aloe pills or doses of bromide. He knew 
that we form a totality, a harmonious whole, and 


IO the angular stone. 

that scarcely any physical or mental ailment 
exists by itself. In the patient before him his 
instinct showed him a case in point, a man whose 
disposition was profoundly affected by the condi- 
tion of his internal organs. 

“Do you drink?’' he asked him, with some 
severity. 

“Sometimes — a drop of rum." 

“Only a drop? You have not reflected, my 
friend. You wish to deceive me, and we are not 
here to deceive ourselves." 

“I am not deceiving you, no, Sefior; for that a 
man should take a glass or two, or three, even, if 
the occasion offers seems to me a matter of no 
account. There are times when one can’t help 
it, and I defy anyone to say that I take a 
drink " 

“And you ought not to take one," said the 
physician in a milder voice, for he observed that 
in the voice of his patient there was a tone of 
great bitterness. “I forbid you to touch liquor 
until Christmas, at the very soonest." 

But where the deuce had Moragas seen this 
man? When had this tall, thin, bent figure, this 
silhouette that had something furtive, something 
that inspired an undefinable repulsion and suspi- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. II 

.cion, crossed his field of vision? Momently he 
put together with greater precision the square 
broad forehead, the gray hair, streaming behind, 
as if blown back by a gust of wind, the deepset 
eyes that seemed to look within, the irregular 
features, the high cheek bones, the marked asym- 
metry of the face, a frequent sign of a want of 
equilibrium or of disturbance in the mental facul- 
ties, If the physician had had a mirror before 
him, and could have compared his own counte- 
nance with that of the individual he was exami- 
ning, he could better have understood the feeling 
of repulsion he experienced, and would have 
attributed it to the markedness of the contrast 
between them. Moragas’ attitude was easy, or 
rather it expressed that petulant frankness that 
inspires sympathy ; it might be said that he was 
always ready to advance, his chest expanded, his 
head erect, the dilated nostrils of his large nose 
eagerly inhaling the air. The patient, on the 
contrary, always seemed ready, as if obeying the 
instinct of certain repulsive insects, to retreat, to 
withdraw from observation, to hide himself, in 
some dark corner. Observing the feeling of 
repugnance with which his patient inspired him, 
the physician mentally reproved himself, and 


12 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


urged by a kindly impulse, while with one hand, 
he took up a sheet of paper to write down cer- 
tain directions for the guidance of the sick man, 
with the other he took a cigar from a mahogany 
cigar box and held it out to him, saying, “Smoke 
that.” 

At the same instant in which the tips of his 
fingers came in contact with those of his patient 
the vague reminiscence which floated in his mem- 
ory gave a sharp throb and almost took definite 
shape. Moragas thought he was on the point of 
remembering, but he did not remember yet. He 
saw a cloud and struggling through it a ray of 
pallid light ; but everything vanished at the 
scratching of the pen on the white paper. While 
he wrote he noticed, without looking at him, that 
the patient had not ventured either to light the 
cigar or to put it into the pocket of his coat. 
Moragas signed his name with a flourish to the 
prescription, read it, and handed the paper to the 
patient. 

The latter stood for a moment in embarrassed 
hesitation, the sheet of paper in his hand, his 
glance wandering over the carpet. At last he 
came to a decision, and speaking shyly, calling 
the physician by his baptismal name, he said : 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


13 


“And — excuse me — and how much do I owe 
you, Don Pelayo?” 

“For that?” responded Moragas. “According. 
If you are really poor, give me the least you 
can afford — or better still, give me nothing. If 
you have means — then, two dollars.” 

The man put his hand slowly into the pocket 
of his waistcoat, searched its depths with three 
fingers and drew out two shining dollars, of the 
new coinage of the baby king, which he depos- 
ited reverentially in a bronze ash-tray. 

“Many thanks, then, Serlor de Moragas,” he 
said, with a certain ease of manner, as if the act 
of paying had given him rights he did not before 
possess. “I won’t trouble you any longer. I 
will come back, with your permission, to tell you 
what effect the medicines produce.” 

“Yes, come back. Follow the directions, and 
don’t neglect the disease. It is not a fatal one, 
unless complications should arise, but — it ought 
to be attended to.” 

“If one had no children,” answered the man, 
encouraged by these few slightly friendly words, 
“it would be the same thing to die a little sooner 
as a little later. For in the end one must die, 
mustn’t one? And a year more or a year less 


14 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


matters little. I mean, it appears so to me. 
But one’s children, that’s what hurts, to leave 
them in want. Well — your servant, Don 
Pelayo.” 

The portiere had scarcely fallen, the steps of 
the patient still resounded in the waiting-room 
when Moragas rose from his chair, nervous and 
disturbed, saying: 

“Yes, I know that fellow, and I know him in 
connection with something strange; there is not 
a doubt of it. It is odd, too, that I cannot 
remember, so many people of all sorts as one 
comes in contact with here in Marineda. And 
he is not a stranger, for — no ; he said he would 
return from time to time to tell me how the 
prescribed treatment agreed with him. No; of 
course he is not a stranger. Moraguitas [the 
doctor was accustomed to apostrophize himself 
in this fashion], why didn’t you ask that fellow 
his name? Why didn’t you find out where he 
lived? Bah! There’s time enough; I’ll ask him 
when he returns. At all events, it is curious that 
I cannot make out just what rank of life the man 
belongs to.” 

“Nen6!” he cried, approaching the door by 
which the child had left the room. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 15 

But Nen6 did not show her mischievous little 
face, and the doctor, obeying another capricious 
impulse, returned to the table, took up the paper 
knife and once more began to cut the leaves of 
the Revue . There was an article there on the 
morphine habit that must be very fine, deeply 
interesting. While his hands were employed in 
mechanically cutting the leaves the silent strug- 
gle of memory went on in his absent mind — the 
effort of the idea to push its way through an 
infinity of other ideas, deposited, as on a phono- 
graphic plate, in that mysterious archive of our 
consciousness. Doubtless a wave of blood re- 
freshed the corner in which the recollection slept, 
for suddenly it stood forth, clear and triumphant. 
Moragas felt the sensation of satisfaction which 
the mind feels when relieved from obsession by 
an idea, but no sooner had the rapid impression, 
almost physical, of freedom and ease vanished, 
than the physician felt a shudder run through 
him ; he turned red to the very roots of his sil- 
very hair; his lips trembled, his eyes flashed, his 
nostrils dilated, and striking the table with his 
clenched hand, he exclaimed in a loud and 
resonant voice : 

“Now I know — the executioner!” (A furious 


i6 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


and round oath.) “The executioner!” (Another, 
more angry still.) 

On the instant he pulled his handkerchief from 
his pocket, wrapped it around the tips of his fin- 
gers, and then lifting up the two shining coins, 
opened wide the window, and dropped them on 
the flags of the street below, where they re- 
bounded with a silvery sound. 

At that moment Nene pushed open the door. 

She came in babbling, but on seeing her father, 
who was now closing the shutters and coruscat- 
ing, so to say, rage and horror, she stood still on 
the threshold with that instinct peculiar to chil- 
dren, who take in a psychic situation better than 
anyone else, and murmured in a low voice : 

“Papa scold — papa scold !” 


II. 


Telmo, on awakening, dug his fists into his 
eyes, lamenting his lost dream, which was so 
lovely. For he had dreamed of reviews, parades, 
and sham battles, and he had seen himself con- 
verted into the Captain General of Marineda, 
gorgeous in a uniform more magnificent even 
than his holiday dress, gay with plumes, gal- 
loons, cords, and stars, riding a fiery sorrel steed, 
and carrying a real sword, not of wood, but of 
shining steel. 

The waking could not have been in greater 
contrast than it was to the dream. The boy saw 
around him what he saw every day, an ugly and 
dismal scene — the sordid, untidy, filthy apart- 
ment, that exhaled slovenliness and neglect from 
every pore. What melancholy breathed from 
the dirty whitewashed walls, the uneven and 
dusty tiled floor, ill covered by a few worn-out 
rugs, the clumsy articles of clothing, ill-shaped 
and of coarse material, soiled rather than worn, 
hanging from nails, the two iron bedsteads like 
17 


t 


1 8 the angular stone. 

prison beds, painted a cold blue, with their dull- 
colored faded quilts and their sheets full of holes, 
and long unacquainted with soap and water! 

Telmo remembered, as one remembers some 
beautiful dream, that when he was very small he 
had had, if not precisely silken coverlets and a 
palace for a dwelling, at least a clean, orderly, and 
attractive home ; he imagined it must have been 
so, for there had remained with him from that 
shadowy period a sensation of pleasant warmth, 
as of a nest lined with down, which enfolded and 
sheltered him. Then his garments were clean 
and covered his limbs : ; the food was savory and 
appetizing; in winter a brazier warmed the room, 
in summer there was an impression of brightness 
and coolness, as of freshly ironed curtains soften- 
ing the light that came through the windows. 
All this the boy did not perceive very clearly, his 
recollections were confused, and the only object 
that stood out distinctly in the full light was a 
woman’s face which, if we were to take Telmo’s 
judgment in the matter of beauty, we should 
say was supremely beautiful. Fair or da'rk? 
Youthful or in early maturity? This Telmo did 
not know ; all he knew was that she was lovely, 
and that she diffused comfort and contentment 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


19 


around her, mingled with the perfume of laven- 
der flowers. But on the day we speak of he 
did not see her by his bedside. The figure he saw 
standing there was that of his father, who was 
taking his hat down from a nail to put it on his 
head, without a preliminary brushing or any other 
the like ceremony. And Telmo received an ad- 
monition to which he was already habituated. 

“Come, get up. Don’t idle any longer. Your 
soup is there waiting for you in the kitchen. At 
two o’clock or so go down by the Calle del 
Arroyal. I’ll be coming out of the house of Don 
Pelayo Moragas — you know it, eh? Well, wait 
for me there, and I’ll take you to Rufino’s.’’ 

These last words he said just as he was leaving 
the house, and as he ended the latch of the door 
fell with a sharp click. 

The boy did not pay much heed to the advice 
not to idle. He knew well that the gain was the 
same whether he got up then or staid in bed a 
little longer. Precisely the problem that pre- 
sented itself daily for his solution was how to pass 
away a day when one has neither obligation nor 
diversion of any kind. For him there was neither 
school, nor college, nor study; nor had he friends 
with whom he could spend the time in play, for 


20 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


that great charm of childhood, the first manifes- 
tation of the affectional needs and the first outlet 
of the social instincts, was unknown to him. 
The resource remained to him to wander about 
the streets like a lost soul, seeking some corner 
where he should not be known. 

He remained in bed for some half hour longer, 
closing his eyes to dream again, if possible, more 
lovely things, of the same martial nature. As 
for him, though Satan himself should interfere to 
prevent it, he would be a soldier. Not a private 
soldier, no ; an officer, and one of the highest 
rank. A colonel at the very least ! And with a 
horse ! What pleasure could there be like that 
of managing a fine, fiery horse ! That must be 
heavenly ! 

He at last summoned up resolution to put one 
foot out of bed, and, after the foot, his whole 
body. He drew on his trousers, that, truth to 
say, had more than one rent and a border of mud 
around the edges, he fastened them on as well as 
he could with listing suspenders; put on his best 
jacket and settled on his head an old brown cap, 
but it did not occur to him either to .approach 
the iron basin where he might remedy, to some 
extent, the filthy condition of his hands and face, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


21 


or to plow with the comb his matted shock of 
hair. The neglect with which he had been 
brought up had rooted itself in his youthful 
nature and, like a true idealist^ he dreamed of 
brilliant galloons and white plumes while his 
person, his dwelling, and his garments inspired 
disgust. With his five fingers he dispatched the 
pot of cold, lumpy soup, and then he was ready 
for the street. 

When he issued from the hut it could be seen 
that Telmo was not handsome. But neither 
could it be denied that he had a certain grace 
and prettiness, something of that attractiveness 
that belongs to all street urchins, however dirty 
and neglected they may be. His turned-up nose 
had a peculiar charm, as had also his thick red 
lips, disfigured by the form of the gums, which 
caused them to project unduly. His rounded 
forehead receded slightly, and his head was one 
of those heads, flat on the occiput, that look as 
if a slice had been cut off with a hatchet — heads 
indicating vanity, heads of dreamers — this pro- 
nounced conformation being, disguised, in some 
measure, by the fine black hair, curly and thick 
as a lamb’s fleece, that covered it. The eyes, 
infinitely expressive, with a bluish, liquid, and 


22 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


brilliant cornea, were two mirrors of the boy’s 
soul ; in them pleasure and pain, haughtiness and 
humility, enthusiasm and shame were imaged 
faithfully and instantaneously, reflecting a frank 
and impetuous nature. Those eyes demanded 
fellowship, asked for companionship and sympa- 
thy. Altogether the boy’s head reminded one of 
that of a white negro, if the expression be 
allowable. Not only the shape of the features, 
but also the ingenuous expression of comical 
dignity which is seen in the faces of civilized and 
free negroes, contributed to bear out Telmo’s 
resemblance to the African type; and his coun- 
tenance wore at times that fleeting look of sad- 
ness and suspicious shyness characteristic of the 
black race that still bears the stigma of slavery. 

As he crossed the threshold Telmo’s first sen- 
sation was a familiar one of relief on feeling the 
outer air blow upon him. He abhorred the con- 
finement of a house, and no captive bird released 
from its cage, no wild animal escaped from 
behind iron bars, no gas uncorked from its flask, 
ever aspired with more energy the free air of 
heaven. If the tranquil and the beautiful 
pleased him, the grandiose, the vast, enchanted 
him. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


2 3 


His second sensation was a different one; he 
observed that the sun, veiled in clouds, was 
beginning to descend in the heavens, a sign that 
he, Telmo, had been forgetful and would prob- 
ably be too late to meet his father at the door of 
Sefior Moragas’ house. This thought spurred 
him on. From his father he had acquired the 
notion, sometimes salutary, sometimes fatal in its 
results, of blind obedience to the constituted 
authorities, and he practiced it, he obeyed with- 
out reverence or fear, and he regretted commit- 
ting a fault on account of the fault itself, not on 
account of its consequences, for his father was 
not, in reality, severe. He darted off, then; the 
distance, although regarded as considerable in 
Marineda, was nothing for the active limbs of 
the boy. Besides, it was all down-hill and with 
places where one could run at the top of one’s 
speed, like the Campo de Belona and the Paramo 
de Solares, that for many years past has been 
striving to be the Plaza de Mariperez, the appel- 
lation of the popular heroine of the beautiful 
Marinedan capital. 

Precisely on the steep slope that leads from 
the high terrace on which stands the infantry 
barracks to the Paramo de Solares, Telmo en- 


24 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


countered a temptation which caused him to lose 
some minutes. At this slope terminates the 
dingy street where, in a large, rambling house no 
less dingy, the Institute of Higher Instruction 
accommodated itself as best it could, and the 
boys, between classes, would spread themselves 
in a noisy band over the Campo de Belona, exe- 
cuting, in their manner, military evolutions and 
fighting sham battles, not always bloodless, in 
which, for the deadly weapons that we owe to 
the progress of science, were substituted those 
with which nature or the quarry furnishes youth. 
With what envy did Telmo regard that phalanx! 
How his eyes followed them ! If he were only 
alloived to join the band and take part in their 
enterprises, who could doubt but that at the first 
exchange of hostilities he would win his epaulets 
or even the laureled cross! His expressive coun- 
tenance darkened and he had one of those mo- 
mentary fits of sadness habitual to him, that 
were like transitory eclipses of all hope in the 
future. He stood still and listened to the up- 
roarious shouts, the excited cries of those little 
imps, and at last, making up his mind, like one 
who says to some coveted dainty: There you 
stay because I cannot get a bite of you ; he went 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


25 


on toward the Paramo de Solares, skirted the 
new arcade and paused at the Calle de Vergara, 
known to all Marinedans as the Arroyal. He 
knew Moragas’ house very well, and he stationed 
himself before the door to wait until his father 
should come out. He looked up and down the 
street, however, and in one of his reconnoitering 
glances he saw the paternal silhouette disappear- 
ing in the distance under the arches which form 
the vestibule of the theater. His father had 
already left the house and he had not been 
there! What would he say? The boy was 
about to run after him when a noise, a curious 
occurrence, made him pause. A window in 
Moragas’ house opened, as if at the impulse of a 
furious hand, an arm appeared, then a white cuff, 
then a long bony hand, and two shining silver 
coins fell with a ringing noise on the flags of 
the sidewalk. It was all instantaneous. Telmo 
rushed instinctively to pick them up. It was 
only when he held them close in the hollow of 
his hand that certain scruples assailed him. 

Should he go into the house and return the 
coins? Let us say, without beating about the 
bush, that his hesitation lasted but a very short 
time. Telmo would not assuredly take a penny 


2 6 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


belonging to another without its owner’s con- 
sent ; on the other hand, with the direct logic 
of childhood, he thought that whoever threw 
money out of the window ought not to blame 
another for picking it up. If for an instant the 
idea occurred to him of running upstairs and 
restoring his booty he at once rejected it, calling 
himself, mentally, a fool. And with a resolute 
gesture he put the two dollars in the deep pocket 
of his jacket. Now he no longer thought of 
going to meet his father. The treasure in his 
possession impelled him in another direction. It 
suggested to him at once that he was now in a 
position to associate with the other boys. It 
was not the result of reflection ; it was rather 
an instinctive calculation that told him that 
money, in this vile world, excuses and facilitates 
many things. He could not appreciate justly 
the smallness of the amount ; he had never seen 
at any one time in his whole life so large an 
amount of money, nor anything approaching it. 
even, and the forty reals which danced in his 
pocket seemed to him an Asiatic treasure. With 
two dollars anything might be attempted, any- 
thing might be attained. Telmo, the possessor 
of forty reals, could not be the same Telmo who 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


27 


could find no boy to play with him, who met 
everywhere with insults and rebuffs. 

His heart swelling with hope, so exuberant in 
youth, Telmo, without even remembering his 
father’s existence, ran across the Paramo de 
Solares and soon reached the slope. With what 
haste he climbed it! From the summit he com- 
manded a view of the Campo de Belona. There, 
at the further end, close to the parapet, surged 
the band which he dreamed of joining. He ran 
on again. The party took no notice of the boy, 
who sped on so fast that the soles of his shoes, 
from a distance, seemed to turn in a circle. The 
pupils of the provincial Institute of Marineda 
were deliberating, marvelous to relate, and their 
deliberations occupied their whole attention. 
For the discussion in which they were engaged 
was nothing less than a council of war! 

Since the commencement of the term they had 
cherished the heroic project of fighting a mem- 
orable battle — the greatest and most Homeric 
battle ever fought with stones since time began. 
They were tired now of foolish plays, harmless 
pine-cones thrown to right and left. What was 
the use of such skirmishes? No; give me a real, 
genuine battle in which the two chiefs, Restituto 


28 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


Taconer {alias Cartucho) and Froilan Neira 
(otherwise Edison), might win imperishable 
renown. On the day in question the time and 
the occasion were in their favor; Seftor Ronces- 
valles, professor of history, had had the happy 
thought of remaining in bed with a fit of indiges- 
tion, or some such ailment, and the boys had the 
whole afternoon at their disposal for their pranks ; 
an afternoon, too, which, from its beautiful seren- 
ity, the sun having broken through the curtain of 
clouds, invited to diversion. 

The only difficulty now was to find a spot 
where the municipal guards should not scent out 
the affair. This was the point on which their 
deliberations turned. The majority were in favor 
of the cliff called del Parrochal, and also called 
the Emperor’s Cliff, from a tradition — proved 
by weighty arguments to be authentic in a 
pamphlet written by Sefior Roncesvalles— that at 
that part of the Marinedan wall and at the foot of 
its ancient postern the launch or boat had landed 
which carried the Emperor Charles V. when he 
came to the city of Marineda to hold Cortes and 
to ask for subsidies. The site, strategically con- 
sidered, was an excellent one, as the wall was 
ruined in places, having abundant gaps and 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


29 


breaches through which the attacks of the most 
active assailants might be evaded. On the other 
hand, unfortunately, the spot was open to inspec- 
tion from the windows of the Court, the prison, 
the Captain General’s office and many private 
houses; and, at the first pebble which should 
whizz through the air, there would not be want- 
ing some ill-natured person to inform the chief of 
the patrol and bring the policemen down upon 
them. There was another beautiful spot, an 
unequaled spot, than which a better could not be 
imagined — with the scenery and the argument all 
prepared beforehand for the feat of arms which 
those valiant warriors meant to perform — the 
castle of San Wintila. 

There, there, indeed, the action could be 
adorned with all the requirements of a tragedy — 
which they had learned in the rhetoric class — 
peripecia, protasis , epitasis , and catastrophe. 
There, indeed, hardly ever, never, it might be 
said, did a policeman come with uplifted stick and 

abusive and insulting speech. There, indeed 

But alas! What did all this avail? The attack 
on the castle of San Wintila could not be made 
unless a hero could be found willing to sacrifice 
himself for the pleasure and enjoyment of the 


30 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

rest; a defender was wanting, and this no one 
wished to be ; they all aspired to the glory of 
belonging to the attacking party. There was 
some talk of drawing lots, but no one was willing 
to trust his fate to chance. Chance? cheating, 
more likely. No, no, not one of the party was to 
be trusted. On this there arose a great outcry, 
a hot discussion. “You are blockheads, you are 

good-for-nothings ” “Yes, yes, go you, then, 

and defend the castle ; let’s see if you will be the 

one to stand as a target for the stones ” 

“Well, then, let us draw lots — the chance will be 

the same for everyone ” “I don’t trust to 

chance, there will always be trickery and cheat- 
ing ” “To the Parrochal, boys, to the Par- 

rochal; there won’t be any of those difficulties 
there.” “Yes, but how if, when we get there, the 
general should suddenly show his mustaches, 
and order the police to pounce down upon us?” 

Out of breath, covered with perspiration and 
with his heart in his mouth, which he had opened, 
as far as it would stretch, to keep from suffocat- 
ing in his rapid career, Telmo arrived at this mo- 
ment, purposing to join the band. “What does 
that fellow want?” said Cartucho gruffly, looking 
askance at him out of his small, squinting, mali- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


31 


cious eyes. “Who is he?” asked* a newcomer 
among the scholars. And the son of the armorer 
answered mysteriously, “Who is he, eh? the 
hangman’s whelp.” “I swear I’m not going 
to play with him !” “Let him stay, I tell you ! 
Now we’ll have a defender,” replied the chief, 
with the decision and foresight of the able strate- 
gist who knows how to avail himself in warfare 
of every resource. 

Telmo had paused, overcome by unconquer- 
able timidity, a few steps away from the band. 
All the promptings of his vanity, all the childish 
self-confidence with which the possession of the 
two shining coins had inspired him, changed to a 
horrible shyness when he found himself in the 
presence of a class which was for him what the 
severe aristocratic circle is for the woman who 
has erred, more impregnable than a wall of iron 
beyond which she cannot penetrate. Telmo felt, 
materially, the weight of his torn, neglected, and 
soiled clothing in the presence of those boys 
who, even in the midst of the disorder of play, 
revealed in their dress, more or less costly, but 
clean and whole, the care of feminine fingers, the 
attention of a mother, the possession of a home. 
How happy they with their note-books in their 


32 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


pockets, emblem of the fraternity of school-life 
with its gay comradeship, its hours of play, its 
studies, which would win them a position in the 
world, and how unhappy he whom they had the 
right to kick from among them, like a mangy 
dog! 

He remained rooted to the spot without cour- 
age to utter a word, breathing quickly, his cheeks 
pale, his heart palpitating. The two silver 
pieces on which he had based all his happy hopes 
seemed to him now of less value than two pieces 
of lead. He felt tempted to take them out of 
his pocket and dash them away from him, in imi- 
tation of the person whom he had seen put his 
arm out of Moragas’ window. What folly to 
suppose that with those coins he could buy the 
right to associate with the boys of the Institute. 
They did not even give him the necessary cour- 
age to pronounce the customary formula: Will 
you let me play with you ? 

The entreaty was uttered only by his eyes, 
which were fixed anxiously on the two chiefs, 
who, on their sides, looked at him with a certain 
disdain, or indulgent haughtiness. At last Edi- 
son, with a mixture of magnanimity and con- 
tempt, deigned to address him. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 33 

“We are going to the beach of San Wintila. 
Do you want to come with us?” 

Telmo thought he saw the heavens open 
before him and heard the songs of the seraphim. 
Paralyzed with emotion he nodded in the affirm- 
ative. 

“You must obey like a recruit.” 

Another nod. 

“You must do whatever you are ordered — and 
look out that you don’t show the white feather.” 
A gesture of resojution. 

“March, then. To the attack !” 

At this war-cry the whole troop started off at 


a run. 


III. 


The castle of San Wintila is one of the many 
small forts with which the engineers a la Vauban 
of the past century strengthened the entrance to 
the bay of Marineda, in order to protect the place 
from fresh attacks by the English. The better 
to fulfill its purpose it had. annexed a park of 
artillery supplied by a powder magazine situated 
at a convenient distance. In the days of Nelson 
when, although a punctilious sense of honor and 
the sublime notion of military duty were at their 
height, engines and machines of war like those of 
the present day had not yet been invented and 
improved and perfected, the castle of San Wintila 
was an excellent bulwark, capable of holding and 
protecting the mouth of the river by attacking 
eny hostile vessel which might appear at its 
entrance. Nevertheless, according to the custom 
of Spain from time immemorial, the line of 
forts defending the Marinedan coast had not all 
the improvements even of the period in which 
they were constructed ; they still retained some- 


34 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


35 


thing of the character of mediaeval fortifications, 
and the picturesque form of the castle on the 
rock formed a contrast to the exact geometric 
plan of the casemate. Therefore, in the evening 
and at night the castle of San Wintila, now fallen 
partially into decay, has a certain mysterious 
beauty, the beauty and mystery of a ruin, and 
looks centuries older than it can really be. The 
picturesqueness of its situation adds to this 
charm. In the wild and sylvan region where 
Marineda stretches to the ocean — a broad penin- 
sula with a coast line as undulating and capricious 
as the edge of a silk skirt, the shore, after gently 
curving in a line of black rocks that border the 
cemetery, abruptly turns, forming a long creek 
which is almost shut in from the sea by a narrow 
neck of land, the prolongation and widening of 
the reef on which stands the castle. On the site 
opposite to that which slopes down to the narrow 
mouth, strait, or channel of the creek there 
curves a smooth, enchanting white beach of the 
finest sand. 

Although this sandy beach presents on the 
land side the easiest approach to the castle, our 
party chose to descend the declivity fronting the 
chapel, a descent more rapid, perhaps, but also 


3 ^ 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


attended with the risk of breaking one’s neck by 
rolling down some precipice to the reef below or 
to the bottom of the cove. Turbulent youth de- 
lights in braving obstacles and encountering diffi- 
culties in order to conquer them. 

More than any of the bandTelmo took delight 
in the dangerous exercise of running, or rather of 
rolling down those declivities, disdaining the free 
and open path. He wished to prove to his com- 
panions of an hour that he possessed as much 
valor, resolution, agility, and skill as any of them, 
or even more. They, letting him rush on alone, 
went along in a body, exchanging bursts of 
laughter, insults, encouraging cries and chal- 
lenges, commands and pushes. At their head 
marched Froilan Neira and Restituto Taconer, 
without deigning to cast a look at the boy who, 
by his presence and his abnegation, rendered 
possible the representation of the play. 

On reaching the spring which crosses the path 
before, growing more precipitous, it descends 
abruptly to the shore, the party stopped to draw 
breath. A few, choking with thirst, approached 
the fountain to drink the famous water of San 
Wintila, held to be medicinal ; some of them 
filled their caps with the water and, making a 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


37 


spout of the peak, quenched their thirst in that 
way ; others, less thirsty and more inclined for 
sport, accosted some poor women who were 
watering two or three yoke of red oxen at the 
basin. Then followed a shower of jokes in dia- 
lect. “ Gossip, won’t you give me a drink?” 
“ What do you ask apiece for your oxen ? ” 
“Will you take two perros chic os* for the pair?” 
“ That one has an extra bone in his tail ; wait, 
and I’ll amputate it for you ! ” The women 
broke forth into abusive cries, as if the boys were 
killing them. Telmo saw an opportunity, by 
joining in the joke, of associating himself more 
intimately with the boys, and going slyly up to 
one of the oxen he took from his pocket a pen- 
knife which he always carried with him and, 
hiding it in his closed hand, plunged it into the 
muzzle of the animal, which sprang back infuri- 
ated, dragging with him the woman who held the 
rope. Here was a battle royal ! Now it was not 
scolding or grumbling ; not cries and complaints, 
but shouts of murder that the peasant women 
raised. “ Help ! help ! Imps ! Limbs of Satan ! 
hogs, off-scouring of the earth, I’ll go before the 
judge and have you thrown into prison ! ” At 
* Perro cliico : a coin of small value. 


38 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

this moment one of the women observed Telmo, 
whom she knew from the circumstance of living 
near him, and her distorted countenance grew 
still more inflamed with contempt and rage. 
“ It could be no one but you, son of a bad father, 
scabby cur, sprig of the gallows! Your father 
and you it is that ought to be garroted instead 
of your garroting unfortunate wretches ! Pretty 
little gentlemen of the dunghill that associate 
with filth like you ! ” 

The words were like the lash of a whip or a 
shower of shot falling among a flock of sparrows. 
The boys took to their heels, sending back a con- 
fused shout, a prolonged and mocking oh-h-h-h! 
an impotent attempt to disguise their shame and 
secret rage. Telmo, too, shouted ; he, too, cried 
oh-h-h-h ! but his cheeks were red and his eyes 
filled with a certain bitter moisture which he 
swallowed by a superhuman effort. 

They had now reached the reef, and they 
paused at the foot of the castle walls. Here it 
was necessary to hold a new council. Cartucho 
and Edison called the band together, leaving 
Telmo out. Instinctively, by a feeling natural 
to the human soul, and especially to childhood — 
insensible alike to justice and to generosity — the 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


39 


boys felt all the humiliation of the recent inci- 
dent and threw all the blame on Telmo ; on 
Telmo, who was to be their victim in a few short 
moments. In putting upon him the hardest and 
most dangerous part of the play, they fancied 
themselves to be dispensers of justice, cour- 
ageous dispensers of justice. Had not that 
woman said that Telmo deserved the garrote ? 
The more it was tightened the better would the 
law of justice be fulfilled, that law which renders 
its executor infamous, even beyond the fourth 
generation, or rather forever. I would not swear 
that the pupils of the Marinedan Institute 
employed precisely these arguments to arrive at 
this conclusion, but they carried the germs of 
them in their brains and in their blood, and they 
obeyed their impulse. 

After conferring together for a minute or so 
they communicated to Telmo the orders of war. 
“ Listen — pay strict attention — don’t give us 
any bother. You are to be the garrison of the 
castle, and we are to take it by assault. You 
are to go into it and to defend yourself in the 
best way you can. But remember! it won’t be 
of any use for you to hide. We’ll see you wher- 
ever you may be, at the windows, or in the em- 


40 THE ANGULAR STONE . 

brasures, or at the door, or behind the wall — in 
short, we’ll see you. If you hide you are a 
sneak, a fool, a mule, a coward ! Do you 
hear ? ” 

Telmo raised his graceful head, that resembled 
a white negro’s ; he shook the curly fleece of his 
hair spiritedly, a conceited smile expanded his 
thick lips, and resting his hand on his hip he 
answered energetically : “ Contra ! I’m not a 

coward and I won’t hide myself, you may be 
sure of that. Before you take the castle you’ll 
have to kill me.” 

Spirit of heroism, preeminently Spanish, dis- 
played in the heroic defenses of fortresses and 
castles, where a handful of men kept at bay and 
finally vanquished a numerous army. Morelia, 
Numantia, Saragossa, Sagunto ! — never was your 
impulse felt more strongly than it was felt now 
by the gallant Telmo, as, leaping, walking, creep- 
ing, he climbed, quick as a lizard, up the inner 
wall of the ruined and unroofed castle to appear, 
breathing valor, on the top of the rampart. In 
the few minutes which his ascent by the wall had 
lasted he had had the time to fill his pockets and 
his cap with round and rather thin stones — the 
best sort for throwing — and to improvise a sling 


THE ANGULAR STONE.- 


41 


with the sleeve of his shirt, which he tore off at a 
wrench. More than in that imperfect instrument 
he trusted in his strong and nervous arms. He 
was ambidextrous and counted on using his left 
arm also. 

The besieging army, drawn up in a compact 
mass at the entrance of the reef, uttered a cry on 
seeing the garrison appear on the rampart. It 
was the howl that greets the appearance of the 
bull when he leaves the stable. Every boy had 
his projectile hidden in the hollow of his hand ; 
more than a dozen arms swung round at once and 
a shower of stones, overcoming the law of gravity, 
ascended, aimed at the head of the intrepid war- 
rior. The chivalrous law of boys’ battles with 
stones, to aim only at the legs, was not observed 
here ; and what law was obligatory with such an 
adversary ? The latter, who was on his guard, 
swiftly evaded the shower of stones, running like 
a deer to the other side of the rampart ; and, 
without pausing in his flight, swung his arm 
swiftly round, sending a stone hissing along the 
ground like a reptile, which struck the shin of 
Cartucho, who uttered a cry of pain ; “ The deuce 
take that fellow, he has broken my shin-bone ! 
Stone him, boys, stone him ! ” 


42 


* THE ANGULAR STONE. 


While the others laughed Cartucho uttered 
suppressed groans of pain, but he did not on this 
account retire from the combat. On the con- 
trary it seemed as if rage at the blow inflamed his 
courage. He had the reputation of being an ex- 
cellent slinger ; he took up a stone from the 
ground, a stone smooth and white and as sharp as 
a hatchet, and bided his time. Telmo evaded 
the next shower of stones hurled at him by 
means of a maneuver like the former one — he 
fled quickly to the other extreme of the rampart 
and took refuge in a tower. This was the oppor- 
tunity Cartucho was waiting for. He calculated 
the distance to which Telmo would retire, and 
sent his stone to that spot with sure aim. The 
projectile struck Telmo on the shoulder. The 
besieged paused, paralyzed, no doubt, by the 
blow. Nevertheless he neither raised his hand to 
the wounded part nor opened his lips to utter a 
complaint. What he did was to evade the second 
stone, employing a stratagem of savage warfare. 
The ruined wall presented many inequalities, and 
the stones which had been torn out or which had 
fallen left projections which one could catch hold 
of and cling to, and behind which one could hide, 
and make a bulwark of, in case of necessity. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 43 

Telmo selected one of these stones suitable for 
his plan of defense, placing himself so that, if in 
order to throw the stones he was obliged to ex- 
pose his body above the rampart, seeing the 
shower coming he could lower himself down, rest- 
ing his foot in the hole, and shelter himself be- 
hind the wall. His two arms rose like the arms 
of a windmill, above the rampart, throwing 
stones with so certain an aim that he had already 
lamed three of the besiegers ; his chivalry was 
manifested by the fact that, pressed closely as he 
was, besieged by numerous enemies, defending 
himself against an army, he respected the law of 
the code of honor — he aimed only at the legs. 

The besiegers comprehended, however, that it 
was only a question of time, and this very fact ex- 
cited all the more their rage and valor. Out of a 
shower of thirteen or fourteen stones must not 
some one strike the defender ? Must they not 
strike that head which appeared and disappeared 
incessantly like a Jack-in-the-box? In so un- 
equal a struggle Telmo must succumb. Froilan 
Neira, otherwise Edison, the cleverest of the 
band, the only one in the party of any strategic 
ability, had a brilliant idea. 

“ We shall be able to do nothing, boys, while 


44 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


we are here in a lump. In that way he knows 
where the stone comes from and dodges it. Let 
us scatter, Callobre, Augusto, and Montenegro, 
there ; Rafael and Santos to the right. The rest 
on that high rock. I on this other. And all aim 
at the head ! In the breast it hurts but it does 
not stun. At the head, between the eyes, that 
would fell an ox!” 

So saying the clever Edison proceeded to take 
his stand on the rock, the point he had selected 
to carry out his plan. It was a sharp, black rock, 
made slippery by the green seaweed which 
covered it, and in its center was a hollow filled 
with salt water, clear and tepid, a species of 
miniature bay, at whose bottom the crabs’ claws 
could be seen moving about and a bottle-green 
polypus expanding like a sponge. The sea, the 
real sea, washed the foot of the cliff, and Edison 
was obliged to wet his boots to take up this ad- 
vantageous position. He did not mind this, he 
planted himself firmly on the upper ledge of the 
rock ; he waited, and when the head of the be- 
sieged appeared above the wall he took aim at 
the curly shock of hair, raised his arm, swung it 
around thrice, without pausing — ah, this time, at 
least, he had taken good aim ! 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


45 


The head disappeared below the top of the 
wall. The besiegers uttered a cry of indescrib- 
able triumph. But the head appeared again, the 
face pale and marked by a streak of blood ; serene, 
the brows knitted, transfigured by a radiant ex- 
pression of joy and heroism, and the two hands at 
the same time aimed two stones at Edison’s legs. 
Both hit the mark and, without seriously wound- 
ing the chief, had the effect, owing to the position 
in which he stood — like that of the colossus of 
Rhodes — of throwing him down from his pedestal. 
He fell, and he fell plump into the sea, and the 
salt water entered his ears and his lungs, confus- 
ing his senses. But as he was not beyond his 
depth the boy, urged by the instinct of self- 
preservation, struck out for the shore, and suc- 
ceeded in reaching the beach. The incident had 
diverted the attention of his companions and had 
even given them a fright : they all abandoned 
their positions and ran to the sands with the 
vague apprehension of some tragic event. Edi- 
son emerged, dripping water, and puffing and 
blowing with rage and mortification, and shaking 
his fist at the garrison of the impregnable castle. 
As if at a preconcerted signal each member of 
the band hurled at Telmo, in default of unavail- 


46 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


ing stones, some insult. “ Coward, poltroon, big 
mouth, let us see now if you will show yourself 
above the wall! You hide yourself, and then 
you throw your stones! That isn’t fair, coward, 
treachery ! ” 

Owing to the stillness of the afternoon, the 
placidity of the sea and the silence of this solitary 
region, the insults reached the defender of San 
Wintila loud and clear, and before the sounds 
had ceased he had climbed up the wall and stood 
unprotected on the rampart, his hands empty, 
his arms disdainfully folded across his breast, his 
face bloody, his clothes torn. His attitude was 
one of provocation and defiance, the proud defi- 
ance of a conqueror and a hero. 

The boys, without consulting together, stooped 
down, picked each one his stone, and without 
concert, at unequal intervals, each swung his arm 
around and threw his projectile. Telmo, motion- 
less, without unfolding his arms, without attempt- 
ing to put in practice any of his former methods 
of defense, without running along the rampart, 
or letting himself down behind the protecting 
wall, waited. Which of those stones was the one 
that first struck him ? Regard for historical truth 
obliges us to confess that this is not known. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


47 


Probably two struck him simultaneously, one in 
the left arm, the other full in the face, near the 
tempel. And neither is it known in consequence 
of which of the two it was that he opened his 
arms like a bird about to take flight and fell back- 
ward into space. 

The boys remained dazed in presence of their 
victory. They did not celebrate it with joyful 
cries or triumphal shouts. Let us do them jus- 
tice — their consciences reproached them-; their 
fresh, young minds, their souls, not yet accus- 
tomed by the experiences of life to compromise 
with justice, clamored to them that their laurels 
were stained with base mud. Profound silence 
reigned among them. They looked at one 
another. The gentle murmur of the water wash- 
ing the beach, the plashing of the waves against 
the rocks of the channel, seemed to them accus- 
ing voices. 

“ Contra ! ” Cartucho, the most cruel of the 
warriors, ventured to say. “ He’s got what he 
deserved for mocking us.” 

“Yes, but what if he should be dead? We 
have gone too far,” said Edison, the most prudent 
of the band, speaking in a low voice, as if he 
feared to be overheard by the judge. 

“ Dead ? Nonsense ! A scratch or two on 


4 8 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


the head. A bruise more or less,” opined Au- 
gusto, a boy two lustrums and some months old, 
and already a bold cigarette smoker. 

“ Let’s go take a look at him,” exclaimed Mon- 
tenegro, bounding up the road to the fortress. 

The rest followed him. The reef was slippery 
and dangerous, but the boys flew along over it 
like sea gulls. The fortress had no door ; only a 
heap of stones obstructed the entrance, and large 
blocks of masonry, fallen from arch or wall, 
formed a sort of barricade which brambles and 
nettles rendered still more formidable. This 
obstacle surmounted, the besiegers had yet to 
pass through a small postern and enter what 
must have been the guardroom of the ancient 
defenders of the fortress, for the wall was black- 
ened with smoke from what might have been an 
open fireplace or a kitchen fire. There, on the 
heap of rubbish on which he had fallen from the 
top of the rampart, lay Telmo, covered with 
blood, white as chalk, without movement or 
other sign of life. The conquerors were horrified 
and amazed. 

“ He seems to be dead,” said Montenegro, in a 
terrified voice. 

“ Dead ! Nonsense ! he is pretending so as to 
frighten us,” declared Cartucho. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


49 


“ Don’t be a brute,” responded Edison, always 
ready to put himself in opposition to the armor- 
er’s son, who surpassed him in strength and 
whom he surpassed in brains. “ Don’t be a 
Kaffir. He is badly hurt. We have done for 
him, boys.” 

“ Well, then — there is nothing to be done now 
but to make off with ourselves as fast as we 
can ! ” 

“ And that fellow ? Are we going to leave 
him there like a cat that’s fallen out of a garret 
window?” 

“ How can we help it? Do you want to stay 
to take care of him ? ” 

“ His father lives close by, near the cemetery. 
We might let him know.” 

“ Hold your tongue, hold your tongue, pump- 
kin. Don’t try any of your hypocritical airs with 
me. Let his father know? I’ll not go to his 
father’s, you may be sure of that ! ” 

“ Nor I ! ” 

“ Nor I ! ” 

“ Nor I ! not if I were to be offered a hundred 
dollars ” 

“ Let us be off, then, for the moment we least 
expect it the police will be down upon us. 
Everyone for himself. Run ! ” 


IV. 


The man who had consulted Moragas was not 
surprised at not meeting his son on leaving the 
doctor’s house. He knew that the boy was fond 
of sleeping late, or rather of remaining in bed 
and dreaming with his eyes wide open, and he 
attributed his want of punctuality to laziness. 
He would turn up at Rufino’s or wherever else 
God willed. 

The sick man walked up the street. As he 
passed in front of the building containing the 
city hall and the theater, instinct or habit im- 
pelled him to seek the shade of the arches ; and 
when he came in sight of the Calle Mayor, which 
was full of people and enlivened by its handsome 
shops, he turned to the left and plunged under 
another row of arches, forming the arcade of the 
wharf. 

This was the obverse side of the medal ; the 
shops of the Calle Mayor, well furnished, spaci- 
ous, with tall and handsome glass cases, and at 
night brilliantly lighted with gas, formed a con- 


5 ° 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


51 


trast to the shabby little shops and eating-houses 
and the suspicious-looking taverns of the Marine 
Arcade, which were frequented by carriers, fisher- 
men, Havanese just landed, dressed in linen and 
with complexions the color of mahogany, soldiers 
and carters from Olmeda, who, before goading 
their oxen to compel them to draw the mon- 
strous load of hogsheads that tested the strength 
of the cart, stimulated their own brutality with a 
dose of alcohol. 

The man — to whom we shall give the name of 
Juan Rojo — stopped at the door of one of the 
taverns, the filthiest, the darkest, that frequented 
by the worst class of people, whence issued the 
drunkenest cries and the vilest words. He hesi- 
tated for an instant before entering. Senor de 
Moragas had expressly forbidden him to drink or 
even to taste liquor. In Rojo the acquired habit 
struggled with the instinct of self-preservation, 
the desire to live, which, strange to say, does not 
abandon even the suicide at the very instant in 
which he attempts his own life. “ When the doc- 
tor says so ” After a minute he compounded 

with his conscience for a glass, a small glass, a 
thimbleful. “ A little poison doesn’t kill,” he 
said to himself, shrugging his shoulders. And 


52 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


reaching toward the glass an ill-shaped, large, 
strong hand with clumsy fingers, he took it up 
and threw its contents down his throat. 

The stimulant gave him resolution. When he 
left the tavern his step was less furtive and 
oblique; his face wore an expression of arrogant 
and aggressive gravity, as if he was determined 
to hold his own in the face of every expression 
of hostility. “ I mean to walk up the Calle 
Mayor,” he said to himself. “ The street is free 
to all, and I should like to see who will prevent 
me from walking where I choose.” He settled 
his hat on his head, thrust his hands into his 
trousers’ pockets, and, threading the narrow Calle 
del Arancel, emerged in the middle of the Calle 
Mayor — the emporium of Marineda. 

The people of Marineda, in every season ex- 
cept summer, prefer to take their promenade 
before nightfall, and shunning the sharp tempera- 
ture and the damp north wind that blows in the 
Ensanche, gather in the Calle Mayor, which is 
sheltered by its very narrowness. It was full of 
gayly dressed people, desirous of amusing them- 
selves and of seeing all that was to be seen, when 
Juan Rojo entered it. He did not produce the 
effect he had anticipated. The crowd walked up 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


53 


and down, engaged either in exchanging tele- 
graphic signs, or in criticising one another, or in 
casting furtive glances at one another’s clothes, 
and had no reason for noticing this man who, 
however he might interest the student of human 
nature, would necessarily pass unobserved among 
a throng as brilliant as it was numerous. None of 
all the ladies who were showing off their best 
dresses, and who stopped to salute one another 
and to look at the shop windows, knew Juan 
Rojo. If any man remembered his face and his 
figure, it may be imagined that he gave no sign of 
the recognition. Juan looked to the right and to 
the left without meeting in any face he saw a look 
of interest or of recognition. At the door of the 
Casino de la Amistad, however, seated in chairs 
placed outside the vestibule, Juan observed a 
group of notables. It was composed of the Pres- 
ident of the Committee, the rich manufacturer 
and councilor Castro Quintas, the Brigadier Car- 
ton£, the new lawyer and occasional journalist 
Arturito Cafiamo, the magistrate Palmares, and 
the Seftor Alcalde of Marineda in person. Rojo, 
as he drew near the Casino, slackened his pace 
until he came face to face with the group ; he 
looked at them fixedly and, as none of them 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


54 

appeared to recognize him, he said, almost aloud: 
“ Good afternoon, Senor de Palmares, good after- 
noon, Seftor Alcalde/’ The judge and the alcalde 
turned away as if stung by a viper, their faces 
darkened, their lips exhaled an indistinct mur- 
mur, that might be either an answer or an insult. 
Rojo, without removing his eyes from them, re- 
sumed his way. 

At the end of the street where it widens, slop- 
ing gently down to the theater, and where there 
were fewer passers-by, Rojo met a poor woman 
and a child, modestly attired, who stood still to 
look at him. The child hid herself in the 
woman’s skirts with eyes dilated with terror, and 
cried in a low, trembling voice: 

“Oh, mother, the executioner!” 

Rojo felt the little girl’s exclamation as if he 
had received a blow in the face from a cold hand. 
He turned round and, approaching the child, who 
clung, not now to the skirts, but, convulsed with 
terror and sobbing loudly, to the knees of her 
mother, said to her sententiously, raising his bony 
right hand : 

“ Provided you keep safe from the law you are 
safe enough from me.” 

And he continued to walk on, or rather to run, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


55 


for he had lost all the bravado, due to the liquor 
he had drunk, which he had displayed in walking 
through the main street, and once more the im- 
pulse conquered to seek the darkest corners, the 
most deserted spots, of the city, the impulse that 
urged him to slip through the most out-of-the- 
way and suspicious streets and to choose for his 
goings-out the hours in which twilight spreads 
her misty veil. Keeping close to the houses, 
sheltered by the arches, he reached the ascent 
leading to the infantry barracks, and once on the 
esplanade of the Campo de Belona felt a sense of 
relief. He was now in his own region. 

There he was, if not among his equals — for 
Rojo had no equals — at least among the people 
who forgive all that is done to earn bread. The 
sensation of relief experienced by Rojo increased 
as he crossed Rufino’s threshold. 

Rufino’s house was one of those small shops, 
formerly called oil-and-vinegar shops, but in 
which at the present day are to be found spices, 
kerosene oil and provisions, together with 
matches, playing-cards, religious pictures, shoes, 
and various other articles, as, for instance, cakes 
of pink and green soap, and bottles of beer. All 
the liquors sold there, however, were not so Saxon, 


5 6 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


for in Rufino’s back shop, around a grimy table, 
the brisca party met in the afternoons to play for 
glasses of excellent brandy. The party was com- 
posed of Rufino, the shop-keeper, Antiojos, a 
cobbler, Marcos Leira, a tinsmith and lamp 
maker, and Juan Rojo. Perhaps some over- 
curious reader may desire to learn how it was that 
the cobbler and the artist in tin were able to de- 
vote their afternoons to the worship of brisca 
and tute, abandoning the awl and the soldering 
iron. To any such I would say that the families 
of Antiojos and Marcos Leira were organized on 
the following pattern : The wives wearing them- 
selves to death working, while the drunken hus- 
bands cultivated ease with dignity — and with 
brisca. 

The wife of Antiojos was an operative in 
the Peninsular workroom in the cigar factory; 
her active fingers and those of her eldest 
daughter earned the support of the family. The 
youngest daughter, a sickly girl who had not yet 
obtained the longed-for admittance into the 
Granera, dedicated herself to preparing the work 
for her respectable papa, whose shop, at the foot 
of the Campillo de la Horca, now the Rastro, 
was one of those hovels which spring up like red 


THE ANGULAR STONE . 


57 


mushrooms in the shadow of the infantry bar- 
racks. There Antiojos’ unhappy younger 
daughter spent the day, waiting for the proble- 
matical arrival of some customer to run and 
notify the cobbler, who generally received her 
with bad words and worse deeds. While wait- 
ing for the customer the girl, who, unfortunate in 
everything, had received at the font the uneupho- 
nious name of Orosia, did not assuredly remain 
with her hands folded. She wet the sole, she 
beat it on the flat stone, bruising her knees; she 
marked with the punch the distance between the 
nails ; she sewed the linings, she waxed the 
thread, and cut and pasted the inner soles ; she 
cut the button-holes, and when Antiojos arrived, 
emitting sparks from his fiery nose and his in- 
flamed eyes, she had left for him only so much 
to do as was indispensable for the maintenance 
of his dignity as master, which was centered 
especially in the last, that is to say, the wooden 
block which he inserted in the boot or shoe to be 
mended. “Goat, filthy cow, cursed girl!” he 
was accustomed to say to Orosia in his picturesque 
language, “if you touch the last I’ll rip you 
open.” And the luckless Orosia did every- 
thing — except touch the last, which was ap- 




THE ANGULAR STONE. 


parently the mysterious key to the art of 
shoemaking. 

On Marcos Leira, the tinsmith, wine had an 
opposite effect, inclining him to good-humor and 
cajolery. If, in the early morning, he was gener- 
ally dejected and morose, the instant he had put 
into his stomach the first glass of sweet red wine, 
that excellent wine which is sold in the poorest 
Marinedan tavern, the honest Marcos was as 
merry as a cricket, and as soft as velvet with his 
wife and little ones. Concha, the tinsmith’s 
,wife, a handsome brunette with large brilliant 
eyes, vowed and declared that she did not know 
why women complained of their husbands taking 
a drop of drink. On this point the cigar-maker, 
Antiojos’ wife, and the wife of Marcos were always 
at odds. The latter, praised be God ! was never 
happier than when her spouse had a little “drop 
in.” Then he was not only talkative, affectionate, 
gallant, but he would lie down on the bench, 
leaving in peace Concha and the journeyman, 
who accomplished a deal more work when left 
to themselves. Evil tongues interpreted in 
their own way the fancy of the tinsmith’s beauti- 
ful wife for sending her husband to Rufino’s; 
but perhaps it was an excess of malice to think 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


59 


ill of the drunkard’s wife on this account, since 
his shop and his work, under her management, 
were in the most flourishing condition, while she 
herself, always neat and carefully combed, looked 
like a queen in the midst of the silvery splendor 
of innumerable cruets, watering-pots, strainers, 
lamps, lanterns, and basins. If the tinsmith’s 
wife had been what her neighbors insinuated, 
her business would not be so prosperous nor her 
children so healthy. They talked about her of 
course ; who is not talked about ? The gossips 
of the neighborhood could not be reconciled to 
the handsome woman having her house supplied 
with everything, just the same as if her husband 
were not a confirmed idler, gambler, and drunkard, 
and envy it doubtless was that moved them to 
attribute motives so black, not only to the zeal 
and assiduity of the young journeyman tinsmith, 
but to the visits of a certain lieutenant who would 
stop at the shop for a little chat in coming out 
of the barracks. 

In short the four brisca players were four 
• examples of alcoholism differing completely from 
one another. The grocer tavern-keeper, Rufino, 
ought scarcely to be counted. He drank barely 
the quantity of wine necessary to stimulate his 


6o 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


companions ; he drank sparingly out of his own 
glass while he filled up the glasses of the others. 
Marcos Leira was the abject being who, through 
drink, has lost all sense of shame or who drinks in 
order to forget his shame, and was still capable of 
uttering a jest when the lieutenant, without pay- 
ing any heed to him, clasped his arms around 
his wife’s waist. Antiojos was the brutal drunk- 
ard in whom drink arouses the dormant impulse 
of sanguinary frenzy. At times, returning with 
unsteady steps to his house, describing zigzags 
on the uneven pavement of the wretched lanes, a 
red cloud would obscure his dull brain and his 
trembling and uncertain hands feel a fierce ting- 
ling, the itch to crush and destroy. 

As for Juan Rojo, he never reached the state 
of genuine alcoholic intoxication ; he had a 
strong head, a sound stomach, a stubborn will, 
and although drink quickly enlivened him, it was 
long before it rendered him oblivious to reality. 
All he asked from it was forgetfulness, and for- 
getfulness came so slowly ! 

On the day we speak of, however, when he 
took his seat at the' table in Rufino’s back shop, 
he remembered the doctor’s words and he re- 
solved to restrain himself. The first time the 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 6 1 

bottle was passed around he did not drink. 
While dealing the cards his abstinence caused 
him a feeling of faintness — the painful faintness 
familiar to every drunkard who has tried to 
reform. In the profound and gloomy depression 
which took possession of him the recollection of 
the group seated at the door of the Casino 
haunted his mind. What airishness! To re- 
spond to his salutation with that contemptuous 
murmur! Ah, he was tired now of drinking gall, 
and if he once made up his mind to speak he was 
going to tell some plain truths to the alcalde, 
the gentlemen of the Court, the president him- 
self. Was not Rojo, too, a functionary? What 
did it matter what the Court ordered if he were 
not there to execute it? 

His eyes turned to the full glass. He resisted, 
however — strange firmness — during the early 
hours of the afternoon. Until near five he sus- 
tained the struggle with heroism. Finally, when 
the sun was sinking in the west and the dirty 
panes of the shop made the scanty light still 
more dim, those evening shades, whose darkness 
fell at once on his eyes and on his soul, became 
accomplices in the deech He stretched his 
trembling hand toward the glass, took it up and 


6 2 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


drained it to the last drop, feeling with a secret 
joy that the accustomed sensations of warmth 
and hope came at his call, and that a sort of 
moral lever raised him up, drawing him out of 
the abyss of bitterness in which he had been 
sunk some moments before. A coarse jest of 
Marcos’ made him laugh ; and to an insult of 
Antiojos’ he answered by a joke. At the same 
time he felt a certain vague disquiet, a disquiet 
which is the normal state of hypocondriacs, but 
which, a posteriorly is called foreboding. Where 
could the boy be ? 

The brisca party generally broke up at five or 
half-past, because Juan Rojo liked to go home 
early to take supper with his son and then go 
to bed. 

Antiojos and Marcos did not retire at this early 
hour. For all they lost by not going home! 
They remained in the back shop until ten or 
eleven, and Antiojos sometimes slept under the 
stars, for his wife, ordinarily patient and long- 
suffering, had days of sudden rebelliousness in 
which she bolted the door, swearing that she was 
tired of wine-skins and at the moment least ex- 
pected she would 

Rojo retired on this day later than usual, It 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


6 3 


was quite dark but the night was beautiful, one 
of those peaceful nights that herald in the spring 
and glorify the Creator. To go from the shop 
to his hut he was obliged to cross the Calle del 
Penascal, and walk up the Calle del Faro, passing 
some high walls — a double row of mud-walls form- 
ing a miserable alley that in winter was covered 
with mud and in summer with dust and filth. 
As Rojo came near one of these walls he heard a 
confused sound of words, muttered oaths, groans, 
and lamentations. Rojo felt a compassionate 
impulse, not unmixed with a feeling of self-com- 
placency, thinking to himself : Here there is 
someone in trouble ; here you are needed ; here 
there is something for you to do. At the foot of 
the wall stirred a shapeless mass from which the 
confused chant proceeded. Rojo recognized it. 
It was his neighbor, La Jarreta, the professional 
drunkard, whom the police arrested daily in dif- 
ferent parts of the town, on the sidewalk, on the 
wharf among the offal of sardines, in the public 
promenade, at the foot of some bench, now under 
the arches of the Malecon, now among the stalls 
of the provision market, always as drunk as a 
fiddler, always sending forth from her pestiferous 
mouth the dregs and scum of the language. 


6 4 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


Doubtless the sudden paralysis which accompa- 
nies a certain stage of drunkenness had surprised 
the wretched woman a short distance from her 
hovel, and to the unavailing struggle she made to 
stand upon her legs, that refused her their sup- 
port, were due her complaints, her moans, and her 
furious imprecations. Rojo drew near, saying 
solicitously ; 

“ Come, Senora Hilaria, get up — I’ll help you — 
you’ll see that I’ll soon have you on your way 
home — at your very door.” 

The drunken woman groaned more loudly than 
ever ; she half opened her glassy eyes, and looked 
at her interlocutor, first vaguely, then with sur- 
prise. When, in the fading light of the evening, 
assisted by the light of the lantern, La Jarreta 
was able to distinguish the features of her savior, 
her eyes darted forth angry flames, the sink of 
her mouth sent forth a whiff of pestiferous rage, 
recovering the use of her speech, she cried 
hoarsely : 

“ Get away, hangman ; if you touch me I’ll spit 
in your face ! I haven’t stabbed anyone, do you 
hear? I haven’t stolen a few filthy cuartos, do 
you understand, that you should put your hands 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


65 


on me! I’d sooner go with Satan from hell than 
with you. If you come near me I’ll call the 
neighbors and the guard of the Artillery Park ! 
Get away from here ; the woman you touch is 
contaminated ! ” 


V. 


Rojo staggered. This was worse than what 
had happened when he saluted the magistrate. 
A magistrate, after all, although in the same line of 
business , was a superior functionary, a respectable 

person, and he might look down upon But 

that this miserable woman, a disgrace to her sex, 
and the scoff of humanity, should disdain to re- 
ceive from him, not friendship, or acquaintance, 
but the most casual service, what might be ac- 
cepted from anyone! La Jarreta ! Fancy the 
one to turn up her nose at him ! La Jarreta, that 
offscouring of the earth ! 

He did not answer. The woman continued to 
vociferate. The object of her insults hung his 
head and, turning into the Calle del Faro, walked 
on in the direction of the Faro. As we proceed 
along this somewhat steep road, in the direction 
of the cemetery, seeing always in the distance 
the Phenician tower invested with a neo-Greek 
tunic by Charles III., the houses become meaner, 
lower, more irregular, until, in the neighborhood 
66 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


67 


of the cemetery, they disappear entirely from the 
left side of the road, and on the right is to be 
seen only a row of some half-dozen hovels, con- 
sisting of a ground floor and a garret, or lumber- 
room, as it is called in Marineda. The first five 
of these hovels must have been uninhabited, for 
a white paper, that looked like a shroud flutter- 
ing in the wind, stood out in relief against the 
window-panes. In the last hovel, that nearest 
the cemetery, lived Juan. The uniform red color 
of the doors and windows of the six hovels 
showed in the daytime like a red line of blood 
against the greenish or leaden background of the 
ocean. 

Rojo arrived at his door, with be.nt head and 
shrinking form, like one who flees from a pursuing 
whip, raised the latch and slipped in as if he were 
entering the house of another with some unlaw- 
ful intent. As soon as he was inside he struck a 
match and lighted the kerosene lamp that hung 
from the wall. 

As if the light served to illuminate his mind 
with a new, and in a certain sense consoling idea, 
he then remembered the child. Telmo? Where 
could Telmo be ? 

It was strange that he should not have seen 


68 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


him during the whole day, and it was stranger 
still not to have found him waiting at the door at 
this hour when his appetite, sharpened by run- 
ning about the streets all day, ought to have 
brought him home to supper. When his father 
delayed in returning home the boy would wait 
for him at the house of a neighbor, the wife 
of a cask-maker of the wharf, and the mother 
of four children, who were the delight of 
Telmo, whom they looked up to as being their 
elder. To this good woman, who was called 
Juliana la Marinera, and who was half-blind from 
chronic ophthalmia, Rojo went when he required 
some service done, such as to put a patch on some 
garment of his or of Telmo’s, to iron an occasional 
shirt, to peel the potatoes — or to scrub the floor, 
once in six months at the utmost. Working 
almost blindly La Marinera did everything very 
badly, her patches were maps in relief, her iron- 
ing scorching, but Rojo would not change her for 
a more skillful workwoman, because she received 
him with good-humor and did not disdain to take 
money from his hands. Seeing, then, that Telmo 
was not loitering about the house, Rojo thought 
that he might be at La Marinera’s. He went 
out to inquire. No ; the child was not there, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 69 

either, nor had he made his appearance there dur- 
ing the whole blessed day. 

La Marinera, who was occupied in patching a 
pair of her husband’s trousers, laid down her work 
at once and offered to inquire at the houses in 
the neighborhood if anyone had seen anything of 
the boy. Meanwhile Rojo returned to his dwell- 
ing with the vague hope of finding the boy there 
before him. But just as he was entering a sensa- 
tion, as if the cold air of a tomb had blown over 
him, caused him to pause on the threshold. What 
was it ? 

At certain moments in life, under the weight 
of the vague and indefinite fear which overpowers 
the spirit when it foresees a misfortune without 
being able to estimate its extent, this shadowy 
misfortune assumes the concrete form of a pre- 
vious misfortune or a series of previous misfor- 
tunes, which resuscitate and come out of the past 
as the corpse of the shipwrecked mariner comes 
out of the sea, disfigured, livid, and terrible. The 
silence and the solitude of Rojo’s dwelling, the 
stewpan resting on the embers, the lighted lamp, 
and more than all the dread, the uncertainty, the 
inexplicable disappearance of his son, took Rojo’s 
mind back, some six or seven years, to an hour 


70 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


very similar to the present one, a decisive hour in 
his wretched existence. That hour, that mo- 
ment, rather, had been hovering over him, had 
been preparing for a long time previously, and 
especially since his petition for the place of public 
official had been granted. Rojo, however, either 
did not see or did not wish to see how it was that 
the dark cloud had gathered. That his wife had 
seemed absent-minded, that she spent a great 
deal of time out of the house, that at table she 
scarcely answered him when he spoke to her, that 
at times she seemed to be sunk in a reverie, as if 
her thoughts were far away, that she paid scarcely 
any attention to Telmo, never caressing him — she 
who had been so fond a mother — that she per- 
formed her household duties as if through com- 
pulsion — she who had been so industrious — and 
that one day, because he had offered to caress 
her, she had almost had a convulsion that had 
ended in a flood of tears — she who had been so 
affectionate! — all this, which was in reality note- 
worthy, Rojo had not observed, perhaps because 
the change had not come suddenly, but gradually, 
almost imperceptibly, and because it would be 
less exact to say that the change in her had taken 
place at the time of the petition than that it had 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


71 


been going on for a long time previous, as was 
indicated by a thousand incidents such as are 
unfailing symptoms, though seldom understood, 
of a change in the affections. The husband, if 
indeed he had noticed her coldness, did not at- 
tach to it the deep significance that it really 
possessed, from his tendency to take everything 
literally ; a tendency which led him to regard him- 
self as the master, not in a figurative, but in a 
real and positive sense, of this human being. 
She was his wife! She belonged to him, to him 
alone, to Juan Rojo! And how wretched soever 
the fate of Juan Rojo might be, the fate of Maria 
Roldan was indissolubly bound up with it. In 
marrying, Maria Roldan had accepted all that 
might come to her from her husband, whether 
glory or infamy. This was for Rojo an article of 
faith, and if the change in his wife’s nature irri- 
tated him, he did not therefore imagine that from 
this change could result a radical alteration, a 

grave event, a resolution 

The blow was all the more cruel that it was 
unexpected. He had felt it almost physically, 
like a blow on his head. Now he seemed to feel 
the same blow again, for the external circum- 
stances reminded him of that fatal time. On 


72 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


that night, also, he had remarked, on entering the 
house, a strange solitude, unbroken silence ; on 
that night, too, the stewpan, closely covered, had 
rested on the embers on the hearth, only, that 
Telmo was then sleeping tranquilly in the bed- 
room, in his mother’s place. And Rojo recalled 
everything, to the minutest detail — his anxious 
waiting for her, his going out to inquire among the 
neighbors if they had seen his wife ; the smiles, 
contemptuous or ironical, rarely compassion- 
ate, that answered the question ; the first news 
of the flight, which he refused to believe ; his 
obstinacy in adhering to the belief that it was 
all a jest of Maria’s; the night spent between 
that anguish of doubt which preceded the cer- 
tainty of a catastrophe, and which is a hundred 
times more cruel than certainty itself ; the des- 
perate search on the following day; the crying of 
the child, whom nothing would satisfy but to be 
washed and dressed and waited on by mamma; 
the information, no longer to be doubted, re- 
ceived at the Town Hall, that Maria had been 
seen in a car on the way to Lugo, accompanied 
by a man ; the offers made to bring her back to 
the offended husband by the police; the strange 
form which the discovery of his dishonor took in 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


73 


his mind, resulting in a total renunciation of his 
rights, and the obstinacy with which he had for 
many days persisted in regarding Maria — who 
was still fresh and young — as having been carried 
away by a mad passion, as desperately enamored 
of another man, and excusable by the fatality of 
love. But this view of the motive of his wife’s 
desertion could not finally prevail. Friends, 
neighbors, policemen, officious persons of all 
sorts, undertook the task of undeceiving him one 
after another. Love ! What nonsense ! The 
man with whom Maria had fled she regarded 
almost with indifference. She had known him 
since yesterday, as one might say, and neither 
her past sadness, nor her eccentricities, nor her 
reveries, had anything to do with the individual. 
All the neighbors knew, besides, that Maria had 
resolved to be off with the first man who should 
present himself. She had been heard to say so 
many times: “And if I don’t find one crazy 
enough to take me, no matter ! I shall know 
what to do. There’s more than one house of 
the Seven Tiles in the world.” The house of 
the Seven Tiles, as Rojo knew, was a place of 
ill-repute, so called on account of the seven tiles 
which projected over its front, so narrow as to 


74 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


allow space for that number only, and famous, on 
account of this singularity, in the sphere of 
Marinedan vice. It was not then'a fatal passion 
which had broken up Rojo’s house, it was 
another sentiment, the sentiment which urges 
flight from one ignominy to take refuge in 
another ignominy — greater or less ? A difficult 
problem, which the gossips of the neighborhood 
had solved, without hesitation, in a sense unfavor- 
able to the husband. “As an honest woman I 
don’t yield to the queen herself,” said a mascu- 
line bacon-seller of the market, “ but if God and 
the Virgin should punish me by giving me a 
husband with such a trade, by the faith of Colasa 
I would go off with a soldier.” And this the 
gossip had said in the presence of her own liege 
lord and master, who responded with equal con- 
viction : “ And you would be more than right, 
woman. For there are some things that bring a 
blush to the face. I am a butcher of hogs, by 
your leave, and I’m not ashamed of it, either, for 
I’ve never given anyone cause to look down 
upon me, but I’d rather gather up dung in the 
stables for a living than be a butcher of Chris- 
tians.” When, a few months after Maria’s flight, 
it became known that, abandoned by her com- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


75 


panion, she had given herself up completely to a 
gay life in Vivero, the gossips had even more 
pity for her than before, more aversion for her 
husband. Only La Marinera said boldly, that, 
having a child, she would not have gone away 
like Maria Roldan. And this opinion, valiantly 
sustained, cost her many an insult for, according 
to the gossips, she defended Rojo because she 
acted as his servant, which was disgraceful. 

If not precisely on these incidents, on matters 
connected with them Rojo’s thoughts were fixed. 
And so intently that he was obliged to make an 
effort to come back to reality and concentrate all 
his attention on this one thought : Where was 
Telmo ? 

Two knocks at the door, given with the 
knuckles in quick succession, were heard, followed 
by the plaintive voice of La Marinera, saying 
breathlessly : 

“ Senor Rojo, Seflor Rojo ! Mother of Mercy ! 
Seflor Rojo, they say your boy is badly hurt, that 
he’s not able to move ! Some women, who were 
down at the fountain of the castle, told my 
daughter so.” 

Rojo rushed out and, seizing the woman by the 
arm, cried : * 


76 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“ Where is the boy? Where? 

“ In San Wintila. Stoned to death ! Go 

there, Sefior Rojo ; I have no sight, if I had ” 

The father no longer listened ; he flew up the 
hill, and a few moments afterward was rushing 
down the steep and tortuous path to the castle. 
The clearness of the night, illuminated by the 
silvery light of the rising moon, which began to 
mount above the hills that framed in the bay, 
enabled Rojo to see his way, and saved him from 
slipping and falling on the rocks below. 

On the tranquil beach, mysteriously beautiful 
in the light of the moon, which shed a shower of 
sickles of burnished silver over the surface of the 
water, only the gentle murmur of the waves 
breaking against one another was heard, and the 
stillness and calmness of the air, the blackness of 
the cliffs, contrasting with the phosphorescent 
green of the sea, the majesty of the dismantled 
castle, heightened by the scene and the hour, all 
seemed to mock the anguish of the man who had 
come among these precipices and rocks in search 
of his sole earthly possession. 

Rojo dashed along the reef, heedless of the 
danger of a stumble. In a few bounds he reached 
the forF. The moon lighted up its interior 


THE ANGULAR STONE . 


77 


brightly ; aided by its light the father crossed the 
rubbish that barricaded the entrance, without 
difficulty, and, lying on a heap of stones, he saw 
Telmo, bleeding and senseless ; the boy neither 
moved nor groaned. 

The father darted toward the inert body like an 
animal toward its prey, and felt it all over with 
eager hands, giving a hoarse cry of joy as he per- 
ceived the heat and flexibility of life in the 
bruised limbs. He gave a deep sigh ; lifted the 
boy in his arms, laid his head on his shoulder, and 
began the ascent ; but not with the same pre- 
cipitation as before, for now he had his precious 
burden to take care of. The wounded boy 
groaned ; doubtless the motion, slight as it was, 
had revived his pain. Rojo poured forth anxious 
questions, murmured words of rough tenderness, 
seeking to find an easy position for the boy, so 
that he should suffer as little as possible ; resting 
his wounded head on his bosom, and holding him 
with hands soft as cotton, so to say. Telmo, in- 
deed, was neither dead nor dying — but merciful 
God ! was he dangerously wounded ? Had he a 
leg or an arm broken ? Might not some fatal 
complication arise? Would he be maimed or dis- 
figured for life? 


78 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


While Rojo was turning over these probabili- 
ties in his mind, he had already cleared the woody 
slope leading from the castle and entered the cart 
road bordered on either side by the walls of the 
two cemeteries — the Catholic and the Protestant 
— of Marineda. The little rotunda of the Cath- 
olic chapel stood sharply defined against the clear 
sky, and its cross suggested to Rojo the thought 
of praying to the Deity, of asking from One who 
could do all things what he did not hope from 
men. His prayer burst forth with tremendous 
energy, with savage impetus, with that strength 
which seems as if it must impose the will of the 
human creature even on the Arbiter of creation. 
Without any pretensions to heroism, as the most 
natural thing in the world, Rojo addressed his 
God — for he had a God — and said to him, as if 
he were proposing a compact: “If anyone is to 
die let it be I. Let the boy live, and get well.” 
As he made this invocation, Rojo’s glance passed 
from the cross of the cemetery to the lantern of 
the lighthouse, which rose in the distance majes- 
tic, solitary, sublime, and as at that very instant the 
revolving light reappeared, clear and brilliant, 
Rojo felt a voice within him saying: He will live, 
he will recover. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


79 


The door of the hovel had remained standing 
wide open ; the lamp was burning, and Juliana La 
Marinera, half-gropingly, as was her wont, and 
more nervous than usual, owing to her recent 
fright, went about, moving a vessel from one 
place to another, blowing the fire and repeating 
under her breath : “My God! My God! Mother 
of Mercy ! ” As Rojo entered, carrying his son, 
the wortian uttered a cry of pity and began to 
question him. But the father was already laying 
the wounded boy on the bed as tenderly as a 
nurse lays an infant in its cradle. This done he 
turned round and cried excitedly: 

“ Go look for a doctor, Senora Juliana. Go, I 
implore you, by the soul of your father, and bring 
me a doctor ! ” 


VI. 


It was fully ten minutes before Moragas re- 
covered his equanimity; he walked up and down 
his office oblivious of everything, even of the 
presence of Nene. He felt that disquiet, that 
profound, though vague uneasiness, that succeeds 
some painful nervous shock. The insults of 
those we despise, long discussions with dull or ill- 
bred people, ingratitude, the sight of a repulsive 
insect — a variety of moral and physical causes 
may produce this condition. The doctor found 
some alleviation to his distress in a purely acci- 
dental and external circumstance — the sun, break- 
ing at last through the fog, danced merrily on 
the window-panes and Nene, as if attracted by 
the beneficent rays, approached and, still timid, 
said with an enchantingly coaxing air, in her 
childish accents: 

“No yain, do to village?” 

Accustomed to the subtle philological interpre- 
tation which Nene’s speech demanded, Moragas 
understood perfectly, and translated without hes- 


80 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 81 

itation: “Papa, don’t you see that it isn’t going 
to rain to-day? Let us go to the village.” 

Moragas was accustomed, when his daily con- 
sultations were over, to order the landau or the 
brougham and, accompanied by Nene, to take a 
drive to his miniature villa, which was situated at 
the edge of the highroad on the heights of Er- 
beda, a pretty village about three miles distant, 
inhabited by washerwomen and bakers and 
dotted with country houses. Four walls, neither 
very high nor very thick, an iron railing, which 
allowed the honeysuckle arbor and the fountain 
in the garden to be seen from the highroad, a 
pigeon-house in the yard ; more than fifteen lay- 
ing hens ; a couple of coniferous and as many as 
two dozen fruit trees; some cabbages and a great 
variety of vines served as adornment to the 
diminutive dwelling in which the doctor .passed 
the happiest hours of his life. And what more 
could a thinker and a student desire than that 
cool and silent parlor, that study where the clem- 
atis and the crow-foot peeped in at the window 
to look inquisitively at the books, that glazed 
gallery which dominated the changing panorama 
of the highroad, that pigeon-house with its nests 
and its cooings, the dining room whose china- 


82 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


closet contained, instead of costly porcelain, 
bright glass and white china, intermixed with 
fragrant apples of the last harvest — because there 
was no other fruit dish? 

Besides, the doctor regarded the country as an 
excellent hygienic counteraction of uninterrupted 
city life, which might prove fatal to Nene. A 
widower since a few hours after the birth of the 
child, in whom he had centered his best affec- 
tions, the doctor cared for her as a mother would 
have done — who was also a physiologist. The 
fragility and delicacy of this tender flower kept 
him always on the alert, only that, instead of 
sheltering her from the north wind and the frost 
within the glass walls of a hot-house, he. subjected 
her to a treatment which permitted her to grow 
up in the open air, braving the inclemency of the 
weather. “To rusticate Nene,” was the pro- 
gramme. This rustication was carried out so 
literally that when they were in Erbeda the 
child splashed in the basin of the fountain, cov- 
ered herself with mud in the hen-yard, ran after 
the ducks, rolled about in the dust until her 
beautiful fair hair was a sight to see — all to the 
great delight of her father, who, if he chanced 
to notice her looking neat and clean, scolded 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


«3 

loudly: “Come, to-day they have kept this child 
in a glass case. Let me see you playing, let me 
see you looking like a little pig!” 

Thus, then, when he was not overburdened 
with work, when there was no epidemic in Mari- 
neda and when none of his patients chanced to 
be in immediate need of his services, the doctor 
went to Erbeda after office-hours, sometimes 
returning at nightfall to make his visits, at other 
times remaining all night, which was the limit of 
his vacation. When he could compass so much 
good fortune he devoted the evening to political 
or scientific reading, his favorite subject being 
those vital questions of modern medicine which 
involve some metaphysical problem, some psy- 
chological mystery, some philosophical generali- 
zation. If Moragas studied therapeutic medicine 
from obligation, as a recreation he was always 
investigating the little-known operations of sug- 
gestion, the revelations of phrenology, bacteri- 
ology, and the effects of certain substances on the 
human organization. He took pleasure, too, in 
the study of what our ancestors called “mental 
diseases,” and he was a frank admirer of the 
modern physicians who have begun the work of 
reformation in the legal field and who are in a 


8 4 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


fair way to overturn the jurisprudence of the 
past. As a great deal is written on these ques- 
tions, and as Moragas had everything that was 
published sent to him, his retreat of Erbeda was 
the witness and the accomplice of his orgies in 
reading. 

Needless to say that he assented joyfully to 
Nene’s proposition. A quarter of an hour after 
the appearance of the first ray of sunshine follow- 
ing a cloudy morning the father and the child, 
the latter in her nurse’s arms, were driving be- 
hind the mare toward the highroad. We already 
know J that the afternoon was one of those peace- 
ful ones of early spring, at Easter-tide, that make 
one feel like saying, as in Faust, “Christ is 
risen.” Across the clear blue of the sky, flecked 
with little clouds, white and soft as swans’ down, 
flew the first swallows ; and in the air there was 
the healthy tonic freshness of settled fair weath- 
er. Nene, very happy, babbled incessantly, ad- 
miring her socks, of which, on account of their 
being openwork, she was very proud. The child 
would not let her father remove his eyes for a 
moment from her splendid socks. If the doctor 
turned round to look at the houses, the scenery, 
or the passers-by, on the instant Nene, seizing 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


85 


him by the lapel of his coat, would oblige him to 
look down again. “My tocks, my pitty tocks! 
And etteday” (Nene always said yesterday for 
to-morrow) “00 ted ood buy me ed and deen and 
ellow — all openwork, pitty openwork.” And the 
child caught her father’s finger and passed it 
from mesh to mesh, laughing; “openwork, so.” 
"Very well, precious, I’ll buy you a houseful of 
socks, openwork like these, but don’t pull my 
finger off.” After an interval of a few minutes 
Nene would return to her theme, asking in her 
fashion if it would be proper for her to show her 
socks to the hens, and to the doves, and to Bis- 
marck, the mastiff, to see if they liked them. 
What with the child’s chatter, the beauty of the 
drive, and the anticipation of a pleasant after- 
noon in the country, Moragas felt like a new 
man. The arrival at the villa and the entrance 
into the orchard were triumphal. 

The gardener, an old man of eighty, deaf as a 
post, came out to receive them, respectfully tak- 
ing off the straw hat that covered his head. 
And the doctor, directing his voice so that it 
should go straight to the tympanum, asked him 
the invariable question: “What news, Sefior 
Jacinto?” 


86 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“News,” answered the patriarch slowly ; “news 
— that the wind broke off a branch from the flow- 
ering acacia, and that one of the panes in the gal- 
lery is smashed — and that the speckled hen is 
setting — and that last night a man was killed in 
the village.” 

“A man was killed?” repeated Moragas, with- 
out showing any great surprise, for he knew the 
bellicose and turbulent disposition of the Erbedan 
young men, and he took it for granted that the 
occurrence had been the result of some tavern- 
brawl. 

“He was murdered during the night,” con- 
tinued the gardener, who supposed that his mas- 
ter was asking him at what time the event had 
happened. “It was Roman, the carter, who 
went back and forth between Marineda and the 
village with loads of straw and wood and wheat. 
He was found this morning in the grove of 
Sobras — see, there,” and the old man pointed to a 
wood not far distant. “They smashed his skull 
in with a stone or God knows what ! They say 
he looks like a Ceomo .” 

“A quarrel or a robbery ; most likely a drunken 
quarrel,” thought Moragas, going into his 
study, desirous of having a couple of hours of 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


87 


quiet, congenial reading. But he had scarcely 
begun a chapter of a new book of Regis, when 
the nurse suddenly entered the room, pale with 
fright. He started from his chair, fearing that 
some accident had befallen Nen6. 

“Seftorito! Senorito !” (notwithstanding his 
white hair, Moragas still preserved a very youth- 
ful air, and it did not seem ridiculous to hear him 
thus addressed). ‘‘Senorito! come out to the gal- 
lery ; the authorities are passing by on their way 
to arrest the murderers of the man who was 
killed.” 

The girl spoke in that awestruck tone with 
which the common people speak of the officers 
of the law, of whom, perhaps, they stand in 
greater dread than of robbers or murderers. 
Moragas rose and, going out into the gallery, 
which commanded a view of the highroad, 
watched the procession with some curiosity. 
First, mounted on wretched nags, came the 
judge and the secretary; then followed on foot, 
two by two, four members of the civil guard, 
men with dark, soldierly faces, active and shapely 
legs, well-defined by the long gaiters they wore, 
and behind at what might, without metaphor, be 
called a respectful distance, more than a dozen 


88 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


peasant women and children, a mob that grew 
larger as the procession advanced. Moragas 
knew the judge, and had even attended a brother 
of his on the occasion of a serious illness, and 
to the nod and smile with which the representa- 
tive of the law saluted him, he responded 
promptly, calling out : 

'‘Good-day, Priego. Won’t you come in and 
take some refreshment? A bottle of beer?” 

“Many thanks. Impossible now,” answered 
Priego, stopping his nag, that desired nothing 
better. “On the way back. We are in a hurry.” 

“And — that?” asked the doctor with a signifi- 
cant gesture. 

“Hum!” returned the judge in a meaning 
tone, that fully corresponded to the expressive 
interrogation of Moragas, saying in the clearest 
manner: “Don’t imagine that this is an ordinary 
crime. I fancy there is some mystery involved.” 
And touching their hats hastily the two function- 
aries started their beasts, not without some diffi- 
culty, on a moderate trot, the crowd following 
them, leaving, Moragas fancied, as they disap- 
peared at the turn of the road, an oppressive 
sense of silence behind them. 

The doctor tried to resume his reading, but he 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


89 


found it impossible. His thoughts had taken 
another turn ; his fancy, diverted and excited, 
followed the crowd and assisted at the scenes, 
always dramatic and sometimes grotesque, that 
accompany what in technical language is called 
“taking up the body.” Every man, even the 
least literary and the most matter-of-fact, has 
something of what may be called the born novel- 
ist in him, and is capable of weaving, in a few 
minutes, a score of intricate and improbable 
plots. Moragas possessed this faculty in a high 
degree ; he had imagination in excess, even in 
the sphere of his professional studies ; and with- 
out precisely resembling the individual who died 
of grief because his neighbor’s waistcoat had 
been cut too short for him, it is certain that he 
took a great interest in the affairs of others, a 
genuine altruistic interest, not from curiosity, 
as so many do, but because of his essentially ex- 
pansive and communicative nature. Two min- 
utes before the incident of the death of Roman 
the carter had been a matter of indifference to 
him, but after the judge’s words, his fancy 
busied itself with the subject of the crime, of 
the probable mystery it involved. Without 
being at once conscious of the cause of his ex- 


9 o 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


citement, he soon comprehended that it was con- 
nected with the strange patient who, a few hours 
before, had come to consult him. “I to concern 
myself lest the executioner should suffer pain ! I, 
who, if I thought it allowable to assassinate any 
fellow-creature scientifically, would consider it to 
be so in the case of that vermin — who is not even 
a fellow-creature ! I, who have such an opinion of 
the whole business! Let him die, for what I 
care, of the spleen that nature gave him. But 
to-day is a day to be marked with a black stone. 
That individual in the morning, and this occur- 
rence — about which we as yet know nothing cer- 
tain — in the afternoon.” To divert his thoughts 
Moragas went down to the garden, which was 
about as large as a pocket-handkerchief ; took a 
few turns up and down its walks, informed him- 
self as to the state of health of the vegetables 
and pot-herbs, ordered a peach tree to be trained 
against the wall, played with Bismarck, grew 
angry because two or three snails were eating the 
strawberry plants with the greatest coolness in 
the world, and during all this time did not cease 
to watch for the authorities’ return. 

Shortly before sunset a noise was heard in the 
distance, and a crowd of people was to be seen 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 91 

coming down the road leading to the city. 
Moragas climbed up to the little mirador which, 
built in the angle made by the walls, commanded 
a full view of the road. As usual the procession 
was headed by the barefooted urchins who are 
always to be found wherever there is a noise, 
incident, street-drama, and whose ranks are 
recruited from the fields of Erbeda just as they 
are from the streets of Marineda. Grim and grave 
. followed the four members of the guardians of the 
peace, and in their midst, her long hair falling in 
two braids over her gown of dark percale, walked 
a young woman. Just as the procession passed 
below the mirador of Moragas, the rays of the 
setting sun fell full upon the face of the prisoner. 
She seemed to be about twenty-six or twenty- 
eight years old, and was very pale ; she was small, 
both in face and figure, with delicate and regular 
features, a modest air, slender of build, with a 
certain purity of outline in the undeveloped 
bosom set high above the long, flat waist. The 
hair, intensely black, parted in the middle 
brushed smoothly over the temples, and falling 
in two braids down her back, contributed to give 
her this modest, almost devout expression. 
Moragas experienced a profound impression of 


9 2 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


surprise. Why was this young creature being 
led away by the civil guards? Could it be possi- 
ble that she was a criminal? 

The crowd that followed the guards and the 
prisoner was composed of country people. They 
walked along with a sad rather than a hostile 
air, with the faces and attitudes of people walk- 
ing in a funeral procession. Only some of the 
men and a few old women whispered together as 
if indignant ; some of the women raised their 
eyes toward heaven ; others pointed to the pris- 
oner; many turned back their heads to look at 
the object that closed in the procession — one of 
those carts of the country, of primitive form, 
with wheels without spokes, that moved along 
slowly, drawn by a yoke of red oxen, well con- 
tented to have so light a load to draw. In 
effect, behind the osier frame which at other 
times served to secure the load of sand or stone, 
there was to be seen only an object of slight ele- 
vation, covered with coarse cloths. Moragas did 
not need to look a second time to know that it 
was a human body, a dead body ; the classic cor- 
pus delicti. Neither on the cloths, nor around 
the body, nor in any other place was there a stain 
or sign of blood, and yet to Moragas’ eyes the 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 93 

whole cart seemed to have a red hue. The sun 
was setting, and its obliqueadight threw a red 
glow over the crowd. 

The procession had disappeared behind a bend 
of the road, and the voices of the multitude had 
died away in the distance, before Moragas moved 
from the mirador. The sight of that slender girl, 
so frail, so gentle, apparently, a prisoner in the 
hands of the guards, and in all probability a crim- 
inal, made him thoughtful. The aspect of the 
woman had already awakened in him a profound 
curiosity resembling genuine interest. We have, 
or rather persons of Moragas’ disposition have, 
impulses of compassion that suddenly and vio- 
lently take possession of the whole affectional 
being. Moragas was what in the time of Rous- 
seau was called “a man of feeling,” and what in 
our less sentimental times we call, with a certain 
shade of contempt, an impressionable person. 
His profession, which made him familiar with 
scenes of suffering, far from blunting his sensibil- 
ity, rendered it every day keener. With the 
same impulsiveness with which he had thrown 
Rojo’s two dollars out of the window he would 
now have gone down into the street — with what 
purpose? The ridiculous one of offering refresh- 


94 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


ment, a coin, advice, anything that resembled 
consolation, to that woman whose face was so 
pale, whose gaze was so fixed, whose lips were so 
convulsively pressed together, who was being 
taken to prison. 

It was some ten minutes since the dust raised 
by the procession had ceased to float in the 
atmosphere when Moragas descended quickly 
from his observatory, having heard from the 
opposite direction the trot of two nags which he 
did not doubt were those of the judge and the 
secretary returning to the city, after performing 
their task of instituting the preliminary proceed- 
ings. And so it was; the nags stopped before 
the door of the villa, and the functionaries dis- 
mounted. The doctor comprehended that they 
accepted the refreshment, of which they must 
stand in good need, and, on his way out to 
receive his guests, he called the nurse and gave 
her orders to have the beer, the currants, and the 
pies, which they had fortunately brought fresh 
from Marineda, served on the stone table of the 
arbor. 

The judge entered, gasping for breath, as if 
greatly fatigued, wiping the perspiration from his 
forehead with his handkerchief, and looking even 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


95 


more serious and preoccupied than before. He 
was a fair, stout man of phlegmatic and jovial 
disposition, and not accustomed to make a 
mountain out of a molehill, whence Moragas 
inferred that the matter that caused him to be 
thus preoccupied must be something really seri- 
ous. When he was in the dining room, however, 
where there was a delightful breeze blowing, and 
where the jasmines shed their fragrant odors, and 
the beer foamed invitingly in the bright tankard, 
Priego’s face cleared up and grew serene, and ex^ 
claiming, as anyone else would have done in the 
circumstances, “phew !” he threw himself down on 
the rustic wooden bench and answered his host’s 
questions rather with his eyes than his tongue. 

“Yes — a serious matter, a serious matter! If 
I’m not greatly mistaken, this crime is going to 
be the subject of discussion not only here but in 
the press of the capital. Ah, how grateful this 
drink is ! I was completely worn out, and as it 
was not a case in which the judge could refresh 

himself with wine in the tavern Yes, I, too, 

thought when I received the telegram, that the 
affair was the result of a quarrel — they are the 
daily bread here, for I never saw people quicker 
to come to blows than those of these parishes. 


9 6 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


But from the moment when I began to inquire 
into it I saw that this was something more. 
And truth to say I was not very well pleased, for 
if the newspapers join in the hue and cry in these 
cases the judge has a hard time of it. Every 
step he takes or doesn’t take is criticised. And 

no one likes to be held up to public censure 

Ah, this beer is comforting!” 

“And the woman who was arrested, what part 
does she play in the affair?” asked Moragas with 
interest. 

“An insignificant one ! Did you see her so — 
so — so mild-looking, as if she wouldn’t break a 
plate? Well, if I am not greatly mistaken, she is 
either the perpetrator or the instigator and 
accomplice of the crime. She is the wife, or 
rather the widow of the murdered man,” added 
Priego jestingly, beginning to eat a tart. 

Moragas looked thoughtful. 

“You say that this woman ” 

“Just as you see her! For the present, strictly 
speaking, all this is premature, and yet I would 
wager my gown that it was she.” 

“She alone? Do you think that she alone 
could have assassinated her husband?” 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 97 

“Alone, no. The lover must have been her 
accomplice.” 

“Is there a lover?” 

“Of course! In the country, if you scratch 
deep enough, toads and snakes will come out just 
as in the town. We are of the same clay here as 
there. There is a lover, and the best of the mat- 
ter is that he seems to be a brother-in-law, that 
he was married to the sister of the dead man. I 
have not yet taken the testimony of anyone 
except the woman who was arrested, who, so far, 
has given only very unsatisfactory answers; 
neither did I insist very much; all in good time; 
but the guards have been chatting with the peas- 
ant women and from the moment they told me 
that she and the brother-in-law — [Priego joined 
the tips of his forefingers together] I said to my- 
self: Ha, ha! here we have the end of the ball’” 

“And have you taken the brother-in-law into 
custody?” 

“They are looking for him; he will be caught. 
The fellow, to turn aside suspicion, gave out yes- 
terday that he was going away 1 from the parish, 
that he was going to Marineda on some business 
or other, but instead of going last night it was 


9 8 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


this morning, after the deed was done, that he 
went away. The crime,” continued the judge, 
comprehending from Moragas’ expression that 
he was listening with interest to the details, 
“must have been committed last night, when 
Roman, the carter, came back after leaving a 
load of sand at Chouzas, a village two leagues 
away. By all accounts he was in the habit -of 
coming home a little tipsy. I don’t know how 
the pair contrived to get him out of the house 
and to persuade him to go into the wood, where 
they smashed in his skull with a hatchet.” 

“Yes, it’s a horrible sight,” said the secretary. 
“It looks like a watermelon. What seems to 
me strange is that there should be so little blood 
around when the place ought to be flooded.” 

“That is singular,” said Moragas. “There is 
something curious and perplexing in that. Of 
course, though, for the present ” 

“We are beginning, Seftor Moragas, we are 
beginning,” answered the judge, who was not 
beginning, but who had finished emptying his sec- 
ond tankard of beer. “And it is your place now 
to express some opinion. There goes the victim, 
in his own cart, to Marineda, where the body will 
be examined and the autopsy performed. And, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


99 


with good management, the birds will be got to 
sing and everything will come to light. Observe 
that it is not six hours since I learned of the 
occurrence,’’ added the judge, who was, in truth, 
in this instance not greatly dissatisfied with him- 
self and with his penetration and sagacity in fol- 
lowing up the scent. 

“And — she?” asked Moragas, who did not lose 
sight of the accused. 

“She? She, gentle and demure as she seems, 
must have the resolution of a thousand devils. 
There she sat as tranquil as you are, without 
shedding a tear, in the midst of some neighbors 
who had staid with her from the time of the dis- 
covery of the body. Nor did she shed a tear 
either when I questioned her closely, or when I 
ordered her detention. She answered my ques- 
tions without bravado, without fear, without pre- 
cipitation, with astounding calmness; saying that 
her husband had returned home last night at the 
usual hour, that they had quietly taken their sup- 
per, that he had told her to go to bed and leave 
the door ajar, as he was obliged to go out, which 
she did, and knowing that he often delayed at 
the tavern, she went to sleep, and it was only 
when she awoke in the morning that she learned 


100 the angular stone. 

that he had been found dead in the pine wood. 
I tell you that that woman ” 

‘‘Had they any children?” 

“One, a girl of three. Her grandmother has 
taken charge of her.” 

“And you think that she and the brother-in- 
law But what would they do it for?” 

“Bah! what should they do it for?” exclaimed 
the functionary, laughing. “It doesn’t seem pos- 
sible that you should be so innocent at your 
time in life. So that there might be no one to 
interfere with them, so that they might be free 
to do as they pleased.” 

The doctor shook his head. The motive of 
the tragic deed seemed to him vulgar and com- 
monplace, but not so the heroine, in whom he 
fancied he saw something unusual, something 
worthy of the strange interest which she had 
awakened in him as a close and interested ob- 
server of psychological phenomena. Perhaps his 
peculiar interest in the case was owing, in no 
slight degree, to the coincidence of his having 
that very morning seen and talked with the man 
who would probably bring this drama to a de- 
nouement by squeezing the throat and crushing 
the vertebrae of this woman, so young and ap- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


IOI 


parently so gentle, a thought which had the effect 
of making Moragas start as if he had received an 
electric shock. The mere idea of seeing a scaf- 
fold erected, and for a woman, offended him like 
a personal outrage. And he brought himself to 
formulate the question that had been hovering 
on his lips : 

“And this woman — will she go to the scaf- 
fold?’' 

“I don’t think so,” responded the judge, with 
a certain fatuity of expression. “As for being 
the perpetrator, I don’t think she’s that. The 
deed itself was probably committed by the lover. 
She will get the second degree. And confess 
that she deserves it.” 

Moragas, who had many thoughts on the sub- 
ject, was about to make some answer when his 
guests cut short his words by suddenly rising as 
if in haste to go. The doctor perceived through 
the railing that his carriage was ready and he 
proposed to the functionaries to drive them to 
Marineda. At all events they would be more 
comfortable than riding a hired nag, and would 
save time ; in any case he had still a visit or two 
to make before supper. They accepted his offer, 
gave their beasts to a servant, got into the car- 


102 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


riage, and the majestic peace of the afternoon, 
the beauty of the river, which could be seen in 
the distance reddened by the last rays of the set- 
ting sun; the stillness of the atmosphere; the 
freshness of the vernal air and the tender foliage 
of the gardens ; the early vines, already begin- 
ning to blossom, which hung over the walls of 
the country seats — all contributed to prevent 
Moragas or his companions from again mention- 
ing the crime, as if to do so would be a profana- 
tion of the supreme beauty of the scene. 

Tired out by an afternoon in the country, cov- 
ered with dust, her frock and her pretty socks 
stained with mud, Nene had fallen asleep in her 
nurse’s arms. 


VII. 




La Marinera left the room with all the haste 
which her almost sightless eyes permitted while 
the father prgceeded to undress the wounded boy. 
He took off his outer garments with the utmost 
care and gentleness, leaving on him only his 
ragged shirt,' and then, with handkerchiefs and 
pieces of underclothing, which he tore up for the 
purpose, he stanched as best he could the blood 
which stained the forehead and neck of the van- 
quished warrior, having first cleansed them 
thoroughly. During these operations, Telmo 
moaned feebly. But when Rojo tried to draw 
off the boy’s right boot he uttered so sharp and 
piteous a cry that the father stopped, unable to 
bring himself to conclude the operation. 

“Does it hurt you much, my boy? Does it 
hurt you much?” he asked him. 

The boy, who had relapsed into his feverish 
stupor, did not answer. Assuredly his head was 
in no condition for thinking, nor his tongue for 
making explanations. Only, after a few weary 


io 3 


104 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


moments, he stammered out the cry of all the 
vanquished, of all the wounded, of every victim: 

“Water! water! I am thirsty.’' 

The father filled a glass and put it to the lips 
of the boy, who drank eagerly and then let his 
head fall back upon the pillow. The father 
placed his hand upon the boy’s forehead. The 
temperature was very high, the skfn harsh and 
dry, a proof that fever had already set in. Rojo 
brought a chair to the bedside and seated himself 
in it, frowning and gloomy. He was filled with a 
tenderness, a wild and dolorous affection that 
suffocated him, but the manifestation of the deep 
emotion, so natural in a father, was characterized 
by the harshness and reserve which were habitual 
to him. 

Champing the bit of that impatience which 
seizes everyone who waits at the bedside of a be- 
loved being for the arrival of the doctor, and 
with him relief from suspense, and, perhaps, sal- 
vation, Rojo meditated on the event that had 
just taken place, and saw in it a fresh humiliation, 
added to the already long catalogue of those 
which had ulcerated his soul. Only that this 
was more painful because it touched to the quick, 
because it wounded the feeling which, strong and 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 105 

supreme even in the wild beast, is in man stronger 
than death — because it is love. 

Why had they stoned his son? Was it just to 
vent on Telmo the hatred inspired by Juan Rojo? 
Why had they left the boy, bathed in his blood, 
dying, in a deserted spot? What harm had the 
child done anyone? Would there never be for 
him pardon, forgetfulness, indulgence ? Was not 
Telmo a human being like everyone else ? Why 
had they outlawed him to the extent of stoning 
him almost to death ? 

These reflections were interrupted by the hol- 
low sound of carriage-wheels rolling over the 
dry highroad and the voice of La Marinera was 
heard crying joyfully and hastily : 

“ Seftor Rojo, the Virgin be praised ! Ah, what 
a piece of good fortune ! That I should have 
turned into the Calle del Penascal, passed the 
chapel of La Augustia — and heard Sefior de Mor- 
agas’ coach rolling past ! What a scream I gave ! 
I clutched the coach door, I told him what had 
happened, and Senor de Moragas, as he is so kind- 
hearted, at once ordered the coachman to turn 
back. Praised be the Virgin ! This very day I 
will go to offer up thanks to her." 

Meantime Moragas had sprung lightly from 


106 THE ANGULAR STONE . 

his landau and, entering the hovel without even 
looking at Rojo, he went straight toward the bed 
on which Telmo lay, saying with the clear, ani- 
mated, and friendly voice of the physician who, 
when he enters the house of the poor, knows 
that he must, before everything else, console the 
afflicted : 

“ What’s the matter? Who has been breaking 
his bones? A boy? Playing pranks, eh? In 
a moment we’ll have this broken head all right.” 

He was already leaning over the patient when 
the light of the lamp, which Rojo had taken 
down from the wall and was holding close to the 
bed, fell full upon the father’s face. It would 
be impossible to describe the astonishment 
depicted on the countenance of Moragas as he 
recognized his patient of the morning, the man 
of the two dollars which he had thrown into the 
street. Anger, amazement, scorn, were expressed 
in his wide open eyes that flashed with fury 
under the finely lined forehead, on the parted 
lips, in the hands instantaneously clinched. 
“ You ! you ! ” he repeated, expressing by his tone 
the various feelings which agitated him. And 
suddenly calmed by the very force of his anger, 
he looked from the boy, who was moaning 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 107 

faintly, to the father who stood before him with 
downcast eyes, and said in grave and incisive 
accents : 

“ Is the child yours? ” 

“Yes, he is mine. He is my son,” declared 
Rojo, in a dull and expressionless voice. 

“Well, that is the worst disease he could have, 
and one of which neither I nor anyone else can 
cure him,” replied the doctor, turning on his heel 
and walking toward the door. 

He had not taken three steps when he felt a 
hand clutching the skirt of his coat and pulling it 
with violence. He turned round with repug- 
nance, looked at Rojo from head to foot, with 
the repulsion with which one would look at a 
loathsome reptile, and said, every word vibrating 
like the whiz of a whip through the air: 

“ Don’t touch me, or I will do something rash. 
Your assurance of this morning was enough. The 
money you left on my table I threw into the 
street, to have nothing in my possession which 
your hands had touched.” 

Rojo released his hold upon the doctor, but, 
turning swiftly round, faced him and fell at his 
feet without saying a word. Moragas stood still. 
The boy groaned. 


108 the angular stone. 

“ He is very bad. Wounded. I don’t know 
what there may be broken in his body. Sefior 
Don Pelayo, I implore you, by the soul of your 
mother ! ” 

Don Pelayo made his way as far as the door, 
but there he met with another obstacle, La 
Marinera, who apostrophized him energetically : 

“ Have mercy, Sefior. Mercy makes no dis- 
tinction of persons. And the child is not to 
blame for anything. God, our Lord, commands 
us to show mercy even to the dogs.” 

A struggle took place in Moragas’ breast, not 
between opposing feelings — in which case the 
problem would have been comparatively easy of 
solution — but between analogous sentiments, all 
tinctured with that half-Quixotic, half-philan- 
thropic generosity which, contrary to general 
opinion, is not incompatible with the positive tend- 
encies of the man of science. To abandon a sick 
child seemed to him, as a physician, monstrous ; 
but to remain longer in this house, to attend to 
this sick child was, according to his way of 
thinking, a degradation, a species of stigma, which 
must leave its stain on his hands. Moragas 
had lavished his professional cares on people of 
degraded condition, he knew by heart the repul- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 109 

sive traces left by vice on the person of the dis- 
solute. Although delicately fastidious in his 
habits and in the care of his person, he had never 
shrunk from any disease, however loathsome it 
might be, and, in assisting suffering humanity, 
by a marvelous anaesthesis, offspring of a firm 
will — that anaesthesis which made the saint 
say that the sores of the leper smelled to 
him like roses — he lost the sense of smell, he held 
in check the senses of touch and of sight, and he 
forgot fatigue in order to consecrate himself 
entirely to duty. For the first time he drew 
back from a moral sore, and his vivid imagination 
strengthened the impression of horror which, 
from its very violence, now began to appear to 
him ridiculous. At all events, in a man of Mora- 
gas’ character, it was not possible that this strug- 
gle should continue long ; since he had not gone 
away at once he would not now go; and La 
Marinera furnished him with an excuse for yield- 
ing by her persistance, saying, with a sort of 
respectful severity : 

“ Ah, Senor ! can it be possible that you are 
going to abandon the innocent child ? God does 
not command that. Remember that it is cruel 
to leave him in that way.” 


no 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“ Are you the child’s mother ? ” asked Mora- 
gas. 

“ Oh, no, Sefior, praised be God ! ” answered 
La Marinera, with quick spontaneity. “ My hus- 
band is an honest man, a cask-maker of the 
wharf.” 

Moragas smiled in spite of himself ; he pulled 
down his cuffs, hemmed, and, like one who re- 
solves to face boldly what he cannot avoid, 
returned to the wounded boy’s bedside. With 
the skill of the veteran in making these painful 
examinations, he soon ascertained that the boy’s 
skull was fractured in two places, and, taking off 
the child’s boot without paying any heed to his 
groans, he found that his ankle was dislocated. 
To contusions and bruises he paid no attention ; 
they were numerous but not of serious impor- 
tance. There did not seem to be any internal 
injury ; but a high fever was present. La Ma- 
rinera held the light and Rojo awaited the result, 
motionless, and seemingly dazed. 

“How did this happen?” asked the doctor, 
pausing in his task. “ Was it a stoning, or had he 
a fall besides?” 

“ That’s what we don’t know! ” cried Rojo, in 
consternation. “ I heard that the child was at 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


ill 


the castle of San Wintila, badly hurt. I went 
there, took him up, and carried him here in my 
arms, and I haven’t been able to get anything out 
of him about the matter.” 

“ It must have been a stoning,” said La Mari- 
nera. 

“ Yes, but there are contusions over the whole 
body. He has fallen from a height, there is not a 
doubt of it,” said the doctor, without pausing in 
his examination. 

When the dressing was ended — when the band- 
ages were placed and the dislocation reduced — 
Moragas straightened himself, drawing a breath 
of relief ; then and then only Rojo approached 
the doctor, and with deep anxiety said to him ; 

“ Will the boy be lame ? Will his chest remain 
weak ? ” 

Moragas turned and, for the first time since he 
had become aware of the social condition of his 
client, looked him in the face, as human beings 
look at each other. 

Chance showed him the man excluded from 
human fellowship under the aspect best calcu- 
lated to move the fibers of his soul, were it only 
through sympathy with him as a father. Mora- 
gas, the most indulgent father in Marineda, the 


1 1 2 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


lover of childhood, the dispenser of toys and can- 
dies, the man who, after performing the operation 
of tracheotomy, had mingled his tears with those 
of the family of his little patient ! 

This was the first moment in which the senti- 
ments of Moragas, sentiments that were des- 
tined to exercise so powerful" an influence on 
the fate of Juan Rojo, underwent a change, 
turned on their pivot, so to say; and to the 
indignation and scorn of a few hours before 
succeeded a sort of strange interest, that 
fascination which repulsion itself produces, and 
which resembles, in a certain manner, the call of 
the apostle who enters a house of ill-repute to 
convert its degraded inmates ; for supreme piety 
directs itself to supreme wickedness. This was 
not the first time that Moragas had noted in him- 
self this propensity, which he humorously called 
redemptorist mania. This same propensity had 
indeed caused him serious annoyance — instances 
of black ingratitude, gratuitous entanglements, 
endless disappointments, and innumerable vexa- 
tions. Nevertheless, like all those propensities 
which are rooted in our nature, this propensity 
awoke once more in Moragas; and his perpetual 
illusion of redemption presented itself to him 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 113 

again with all the attractiveness with which our 
illusions usually present themselves to us. “ If 
I,” thought the doctor, “ had been born in the 
Middle Ages, in that epoch in which the defi- 
ciences of the state of society and of jurispru- 
dence left so wide a field for individual effort, God 
only knows what I might not have accomplished. 
But, in the present statq of society, there is no 
doubt that this folly of making everyone’s suffer- 
ing one’s own, of intermeddling in what does not 
concern one, greatly resembles the occupation of 
righting wrongs and redressing grievances ridi- 
culed by Cervantes.” When he observed that the 
condition and state of Rojo — of Rojo ! — pro- 
voked in him the first symptoms of the habitual 
and well-known disease the redeemer laughed at 
himself. “ Moraguitas, beyond this you cannot 
go. Now you have taken it into your head to 
pity that individual. Now you have reached the 
extreme limit of the benevolent craze, my son. 
No, here I will not let you have your head. This 
man it is not allowable to regard as a man. If 
you wish to interest yourself in something ex- 
travagant and eccentric, interest yourself, if 
you choose, in the murderess whom you saw 
walking between the civil guards along the high- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


114 

road. She may be a criminal — let us suppose 
that she is one — but a criminal in hot blood , a 
passional criminal, who, in sinning, obeyed, no 
doubt, an irresistible impulse, not caring that at 
the other side of the ditch she was about to jump 
was the expiation of a shameful death. That is 
a disease, Moragas ; that woman is sick, as much 
as any of the sick women you attend every day. 
There, compassion is comprehensible and justifi- 
able. But as for this fellow, who, in cold blood 
and without danger to himself, has adopted kill- 
ing as a trade, his head should be crushed under 
one’s heel like a viper’s.” 

While these thoughts were passing through 
Moragas’ mind Rojo repeated his question : 

“ Will he be lame ? Will he be crippled ? ” 

“ No,” answered the doctor in a severe voice; 
“ he will neither be lame nor crippled. His general 
condition concerns me more than his injuries. I 
am going to leave you some prescriptions.” 

A writing desk was found, neither so shabby 
nor so ill-furnished as might have been expected 
in this hovel, and Moragas wrote his prescriptions. 
The only sounds to be heard in the room were the 
painful breathing of the father and the dull moans 
of the wounded boy, whom the doctor approached, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


IX S 


surprised at seeing that, instead of quieting him, 
the dressing of the wounds seemed to have made 
him more restless and uneasy. 

“ It is important that he should not move, on 
account of the dislocation,” said Moragas. “But 
who will be able to keep him quiet, with that 
violent fever? Stay, he is delirious already.” 

Telmo, in fact, was tossing about restlessly on 
the bed, and his inarticulate moans had given 
place to words articulated with difficulty, although 
clear and intelligent. The doctor listened. 

“I am brave !” affirmed Telmo. “Who calls 
me a coward ? Liars, you shall see if — Throw, 
I am waiting! You despiselme because — Stones, 
more stones, as many as you like ! I am ready 
for you all. It’s you who are the cowards ! Come 

on ! — Throw your stones ! — I am alone ” 

“ What is he saying? ” asked the father. 

“ Bah ! ” responded Moragas. “ It would seem 
that a crowd of boys got together to stone him — 
what was to be expected ? Don’t be so astounded, 
man ! ” he added ironically, yielding again to his 
former feeling of aversion. “Why, don’t you 
think it very natural that humanity should stone 
you in the person of your son ? ” 

“ It is a wicked act ! ” cried Rojo, in a sup- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


116 

pressed voice, leaning against the wall and hiding 
his altered face in his hands. “ That they should 
stone me — well and good — that is to say — not 
that either ; but, in short, if they wanted to 

stone But the child, Sefior de Moragas — it 

was a dirty action ! and — you will forgive me for 
speaking so frankly — a vile deed! ” 

“ Well, you see, you thought you had no respon- 
sibility in bringing children into the world. 
You have only yourself to blame.” 

“ But, Sefior,” interrupted La Marinera impet- 
uously, “ why should the innocent child have to 
pay for it ? ” 

“ Eh, stop talking nonsense,” said the physi- 
cian, with disgust. “ Give him what is written 
there, it will take down the fever. Get some 
lemons or oranges and let him drink, drink 
without stint. Moisten the bandages with diluted 
arnica. Nothing to eat, you understand, not even 
broth, nothing. Take care.” 

Rojo, going up to the physician, said humbly 
and with bent head : 

“ Sefior de Moragas, I cannot pay you. That 
is to say that I have no way — for, if I had the 
money — you wouldn’t want — well, to take the 
trifle that I could give you. Don’t get angry; 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


117 

by your father’s soul I entreat you, don’t get 
angry. All I ask you is not to abandon the boy 
on me. If I only knew that you’d come back to- 
morrow.” 

Moragas hesitated for an instant. At last the 
impulse prevailed. 

“I will come back,” he answered firmly. “I 
will come back to-morrow, I promise you.” 

As he leaned back in the corner of his landau, 
before the driver had touched the mare with the 
whip, Moragas heard a woman’s voice saying fer- 
vently, as if in prayer: 

“ God and the Virgin preserve your little girl 
to you. You have earned heaven to-day, Don 
Pelayo. Our Lord be with you. Far our Lord, 
too, despised no one !” 

It was La Marinera who spoke thus. Moragas 
thrust his head out of the window and, in order 
to put a stop to the poor woman’s blessings, 
answered jokingly : 

“Good-by, my little beauty.” 


VIII. 


The Marinedan capital awoke to discuss, to 
ruminate upon, to distort — I was abo-ut to say to 
enjoy , the news of the crime of Erbeda ; but this 
would be a calumny, for in reality the Marine- 
dans are not so avid of emotions as the Parisians, 
and the morbid taste for horrors and scandals is 
repugnant to them. They are to some extent 
contaminated, however, by the example of the 
press of Madrid, which records at the present day, 
with a zeal and minuteness worthy of a nobler 
cause, the most trivial and commonplace sayings 
and doings of the criminal who has fallen into 
the hands of the law, from the moment of his 
arrest until that in which the Sisters of Peace 
and Charity lay his remains in the grave. 

The common people of Marineda, like the 
common people everywhere, had become grad- 
ually accustomed, thanks to the press, to legal 
and criminal terminology and to a certain sharp 
criticism of the law and of its representatives and 
interpreters which, if it was not always just, was 

118 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 119 

at least an indication of the social discontent 
which clamors for innovation, demanding fresh 
water from new springs. In this movement of 
Marinedan public opinion, as in every movement 
of opinion, there was something mechanical and 
puerile and also something fruitful and inspired; 
a combination which, transformed into instinct, 
helps, unconsciously, the true conscious precur- 
sors of human progress. 

Certain it is that on the morning in question, 
with the first gleam of daylight ; with the first 
pious women who -rose before dawn to hear the 
masses of the Jesuits; with the first street-sweep- 
ers, who, scarcely half-awake, were beginning to 
clean the streets and to drive away vagrant cats 
and dogs; with the first countrywomen carrying 
their baskets on their heads, who wakened the 
inspectors of provisions to pay them the toll; 
with the first servants and industrious housekeep- 
ers, who went out early to have the best of the 
market ; with the first lidos that pushed off from 
shore to disturb the sardines and the hakes; 
with the first cigar-makers who entered the fac- 
tory; with the matutinal activity of a town 
which counts its inhabitants by tens of thou- 
sands, which has twelve or fourteen newspapers, 


120 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


six or eight factories, large and small, a court of 
justice, a Captain General’s office, a collegiate 
church, an Institute, a harbor, the stir and bustle 
of a custom house, and with all the other etcet- 
eras which might be mentioned to the honor and 
praise of the pretty capital of Cantabria, the ac- 
count of the horrible and memorable crime of 
Erbeda spead, rolled, grew, gave a thousand turns, 
assumed more forms than Proteus, and had more 
versions than the Bible. 

According to some, it was a drunken and bru- 
tal husband who beat and abused his wife con- 
stantly, and whom the latter, in a fit of frenzy, 
exasperated by ill-treatment, hacked to pieces 
with a hatchet. According to those who seemed 
best informed there was a little of all of this : the 
husband ill-treated his wife, the brother-in-law 
loved her, she had an understanding with the 
brother-in-law, and between the two they had 
plotted the murder, which was perpetrated, not 
in the pine wood, but in the very home of the 
husband and wife, when the former was sleeping 
unsuspectingly in bed, with their innocent child, 
a little girl of three years old, by his side. This 
horrible version of the crime was the one that 
prevailed, the one which, as the sun mounted in 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


I 2 I 


the heavens, spread, sinister and categorical, 
through the indignant city; the morning news- 
papers which were distributed between nine and 
half-past confirmed it fully, and about eleven 
o’clock an extra was called out, a sort of supple- 
ment, badly blurred, which announced the cap- 
ture of the accomplice and his incarceration. 

Nor, even when the two criminals were safe in 
prison, did the excited discussion of the crime 
subside ; it increased rather at the breakfast 
hour. In the afternoon, instead of growing 
calm-er, the popular mind grew still more agi- 
tated, this being precisely the time in which as- 
semble in Marineda, as everywhere else, but espe- 
cially in towns where any sort of traffic or. busi- 
ness is carried on, the groups who stand at the 
street corners, the coteries of the shops — social 
rocks on which reputations are wrecked, the are- 
opaguses of the benches of the promenade, with 
other forms of human sociability. The matutinal 
opinion of a town is always democratic; it is 
formed by the classes who rise early, work-people, 
the poor; and these condemn crime less severely, 
as if they comprehended that it is an acute 
disease to which those who already suffer the two 
horrible chronic diseases, want and ignorance , are 


122 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


predisposed. The evening opinion — which is the 
one that in the end prevails — is formed by the 
bourgeois class, always more severe, less lenient to 
wrong-doing, and more zealous for external 
moral order. In the afternoon, then, when the 
tide of discussion and comment was rising and 
breaking in foam against the rocks of the two 
principal societies — each in its own style and on 
its own ground — which were called respectively, 
La Pecera and the Casino de la Amistad, it was 
when the editor of a Marinedan daily, commis- 
sioned to telegraph to an important periodical of 
the capital, was enabled to send by the wire 
these words: “Profound indignation reigns among 
all social classes. Excited people discuss horri- 
ble details.’’ 

We, who are desirous, as is our duty, to en- 
lighten the reader’s judgment, will take good 
care not to carry him to the Pecera, a frivolous 
coterie of chickens and cocks (these terms are still 
used in Marineda), without occupation and 
averse to heating their brains by attempting to 
solve scientific problems. For them the drama 
of Erbeda was a subject of profane, witty, 
and spicy conversation. For the Casino de la 
Amistad, especially for a certain senate (we use 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


123 


the word, not in its etymological sense of age, 
but in the symbolic sense of respectability and 
wisdom), the drama of Erbeda was something 
very different ; it gave occasion for a display of 
profound legal knowledge and the discussion and 
elucidation of many intricate and difficult points 
of criminal law. 

For here congregated, drawn together by con- 
geniality of tastes and professions, Celso Pal- 
mares, Judge of the Criminal Hall in the Mari- 
nedan court; Carmelo Nozales, attorney-general 
of the same; the never-enough-to-be-lauded juris- 
consult, Arturito Cafiamo, alias Siete Patibu- 
los*; Don Dario Cortes, delegate of the Treas- 
ury, a very learned man ; the Brigadier Cartone, 
who was not without his suspicion of chicanery, 
and sometimes — take notice! the young lawyer, 
Lucio Febrero, nephew of a venerable president 
of the court who had died in Madrid. Lucio 
Febrero had the reputation of being a man of 
great talent — an eccentric, dangerous, revolution- 
ary sort of talent, such as is spoken of in the 
provinces, and even outside of them, in the same 
tone in which one would speak of a box filled 
with fulminate of mercury — what do I say — of 
panclastita! 


* Seven Scaffolds. 


124 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

There also mingled in this circle composed of 
personages so learned, others, extremely igno- 
rant, who did not know Justinian, even by name, 
but who (if it may be said without too much 
irreverence) took a part in the bull-fight from 
inclination. For, considering the matter well, on 
what pipe did e'ven the Brigadier Cartone play in 
certain discussions? What did the editor of the 
Horizonte Galaico know of laws? What the good 
Castro Quintas, enriched by the honest industry 
of manufacturing stearine candles? What Ci- 
riaco de la Luna, the model of honorable rural 
proprietors, cream and mirror of wretched poets? 
What Mauro Pareja, temporary deserter from the 
Pecera,* an incorrigible old bachelor? What 
Primo Cova, the sempiternal jester? What so 
many others whom we might name, who formed 
the nucleus of the assembly, renewed in some of 
its elements by the inevitable entrance and de- 
parture of soldiers and employees, but stationary 
enough in the main for one to be able to calculate 
beforehand what sort of opinion and what form 
of discussion would preponderate in it. 

The Casino de la Amistad numbers among its 
chief attractions a glazed vestibule, from whence 
the observant eye can watch at its ease all that 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 125 

goes on in the principal artery of the town, or the 
street called Mayor* by antonomasia, although 
it is not such in size, but only in importance and 
activity. This vestibule does not pretend to 
compare itself with La Pecera, which owes its 
name to the high windows that, surrounding it 
on three sides, convert it into a species of trans- 
parent box; but, such as it is, it would be difficult 
for a rat to escape the notice of the frequenters 
of La Amistad, and the vestibule is sufficiently 
well patronized, especially when the cold season 
is over, and one can take a cup of coffee there. 
On the days when the tide of news is at the 
flood the vestibule overflows and the chairs over- 
run its narrow limits, invading even the gutter, 
for sidewalks, to speak the truth, the Calle Mayor 
does not possess. 

On the afternoon of the day succeeding that of 
the crime there could not have been fewer than 
thirty persons there. This was the grand 
complet. The various versions were discussed 
and sifted, and the definitive, that which is not 
discussed, was slowly crystallizing. Mauro 
Pareja — alias the Abbot — noted for his want of 
discretion — 'had information of the most authen- 
tic nature, for he had just had a long chat with 
* Main. 


126 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


Priego, the judge, who had gone to Erbeda to 
take up the body and to institute proceedings. 
Pareja uttered these words in a meaning tone, 
adding that it was not his intention to betray 
anything of what he had heard, and least of all, 
the secrets of a case as yet so tender, in its 
infancy, so to say; but that without doubt, when 
the time required by the law should have elapsed, 
the wife and the brother-in-law of the murdered 
man would be removed from the house of deten- 
tion to the prison, and both would be indicted, 
since they had together done the deed. Pareja 
added another interesting piece of news. Priego 
was resting from his “laborious duties” in the 
villa of Don Pelayo Moragas, and Priego thought 
that Moragas was enamored or little less of the 
murderess, so encomiastic was he of her modest 
and winning air, the decorum of her manners, 
and the sweetness of her face. 

Less than this would have been sufficient to 
awaken the suspicions of his hearers. “But does 
Moragas know her?” “I wager she washed for 
Moragas.” “Of course, both of them from 
Erbeda.” “An idyl !” All these jests, for the 
most part sour-sweet, and only occasionally bit- 
ter, ceased as if by enchantment the moment the 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


127 


countenance, at once refined and genial, the 
white head and the youthful and slender form of 
Don Pelayo appeared against the background of 
the venerable drug shop which stands at the 
head of the Calle Mayor. He was even more 
carefully attired than usual, in a gray overcoat 
and white waistcoat of smooth, fine piqu£, the 
hat carefully set a little to one side, the gloves 
well-fitting, and was walking toward them, chat- 
ting, smilingly, with a patient of his, the Mar- 
chioness of Veniales, whom he had no doubt just 
met. When they were near the Casino the lady 
left him and entered a shop, and Moragas, now 
serious, like a man who, left alone, returns to 
some thought which preoccupies him, walked on, 
his eyes fixed on the flags. Then Carton^, who 
was frank and unceremonious, called to him: 

“Moragas! friend Moragas!” 

Moragas seldom entered either the Casino or 
the Pecera, or any other of the clubs or circles of 
Marineda. He had no leisure time. His life 
was as full as an egg, and he had scarcely an idea 
of the impelling force of idleness that drew 
together, at the same hour every day, the same 
persons around the same table. He hastened, 
however, to respond to Cartone’s invitation, and 


128 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


accepted, instead of a cup of coffee which, taken 
between meals, would affect his nerves, an ice, 
which was brought from the nearest caf£, as they 
did not keep ices at the Casino. And questions 
and jests began to be showered upon Moragas. 
“They are talking of arresting you as an accom- 
plice in the crime of Erbeda.” “Wasn’t it your 
laundress who killed her husband? Come, let 
the witness, Don Pelayo Moragas, state what he 
knows.” 

“Halt!” said Moragas gayly. “Not even as a 
witness can I be involved in that muddle. This 
morning when I was reading the papers I 
thought to myself : Is it not strange that, living 
as she does in the same place in which I have my 
little garden, I should not know that woman? She 
must be one of the few people of the place that I 
have never happened to see. And she is not ill- 
looking ” 

“Hello!” 

“Come! come!” 

“So she is handsome, eh?” 

“Handsome, no. What she has is an air of 
modesty, of decorum, that please and surprise 
from the contrast they present to the deed of 
which she is accused. And I say of which she is 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


129 


accused, for in reality, so far, nothing is known 
with certainty.” 

“ Come, man, let us into the secret. You have 
your information on good authority. Yesterday 
you had a conference with Priego.” 

“A conference!” And Moragas laughed, as he 
cut off the point of the pyramid of ice cream 
with the mouth of his cornucopia. “The fact is 
that I chanced to be in the balcony, and Priego, 
who was passing by fatigued and disgusted with 
his task, came in to refresh himself with a glass of 
German beer. And he himself did not know 
much. It was just after the arrest.” 

“Let us respect the secrets of the law!” said 
Primo Cova. 

“You can make light of it,” observed the mag- 
istrate Don Celso Palmares, in a melancholy 
voice, shaking his head, whose thin, cobweb-col- 
ored locks lent an added sadness to his sallow, 
parchment-like face, “but we — we must carry the 
cross. I had hoped that in this court no such 
case would ever present itself.” 

“As for this one,” remarked Carmelo Nozales, 
the attorney-general, “I suspect that Sefior Don 
Celso will not be able to keep his resolve of retir- 
ing without having signed a death-warrant.” 


130 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

The magistrate’s countenance grew still more 
gloomy and his brows contracted in a frown, as 
if he highly disapproved of the conversation. 
Mauro Pareja perceived the indiscretion of their 
remarks, and turned the conversation, bringing it 
into the region of fact. 

‘‘The truth is,” he said, “that crimes of this 
caliber are not seen every day, if the latest 
version — which seems to be the true one — is 
confirmed.” 

“What version?” asked Lucio Febrero, who 
arrived at this moment and joined tlie v circle 
without even taking the trouble to say good- 
afternoon. 

His arrival created a sensation. Every head 
was turned toward him, every eye sought his. 

“Is that all you know about it?” exclaimed 
Moragas. “Devoted as you are to the study of 
criminology , so fond of poring over French, Ital- 
ian, and Russian authorities, and yet you despise 
the experimental part? For the study of a crime 
is to you what a pathological case is tc- me, not- 
withstanding the opinion of our friend Senor 
Cafiamo, who flies into a passion at everything 
you say or do.” 

“I?” said the jurisconsult alluded to, with a 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 13 1 

smile which tried to be honey, but which was 
really realgar highly charged with arsenic. 
“Not at all. Seftor Febrero has convinced me. 
He has brought forward such arguments that I 
acknowledge myself beaten ; there is no differ- 
ence whatever between the criminal and the up- 
right man, and the court should sentence criminals 
— to eat a pound of sweetmeats.” 

Lucio Febrero, a young man of a good figure 
and a handsome face, the worthy nephew of the 
fine-looking old man whose acquaintance we 
made in % Morrina, smiled with ironical good- 
humor and looked tranquilly at Arturito Canamo, 
who, on his side, avoided the glance of the 
young lawyer, whom he hated with a deadly 
hatred. It is to be observed that Canamo, who 
had recently established himself in Marineda with 
the inward determination to sweep away all the 
other important offices, and persuaded that in 
order to carry out this object he must philosophize 
in speech and in print, Arturito Canamo, as I say, 
was an implacable penalist and had already writ- 
ten two pamphlets advocating capital punish- 
ment — for which reason Marinedans, who are not 
wanting in humor, had given him the nicknames 
of Siete Patibulos, and although less felicitously, 


132 


THE ANGULAR STONE . 


Una horca en cada Esquina * just as they called 
the attorney-general, Nozales, Grotius and Puffen- 
dorf, from his fondness for quoting these two 
authorities as if they were one single person. 
When Lucio Febrero made his appearance in 
Marineda, with his aureole of brilliant learning, 
with the prestige of his handsome face and his 
energetic diction, and with the overwhelming 
force of his “dissolvent” ideas, Cafiamo foresaw, 
scented in him, the rival who could close to him • 
forever the path of fame and glory. True, 
Febrero always declared that he did not intend 
to establish himself in Marineda, that he was there 
only temporarily, to attend to certain matters con- 
nected with his mother’s will ; but might not this 
be artful dissimulation? Might he not have the 
Macchiavellian purpose of gradually insinuating 
himself into public favor and undermining the 
ground on which he, Canamo, was beginning to 
obtain a footing? Had not Canamo in Febrero 
the natural enemy that pursues every being? 
And even if this were not so, could there be the 
least possible doubt that Febrero would eclipse 
and obscure the merit of Cafiamo, and that he 
was the innovator, the nihilist, the abolisher of 
penal laws who, with his wild but fascinating 

* A gallows at every street corner. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


133 


theories, would destroy the prospects of Caftamo 
— and ultimately the social structure? 

Siete Patibulos, whose gaze wandered around 
the table, avoiding, however, the frank, smiling, 
and disdainful glance of Febrero, continued, with 
a forced smile full of bitterness and gall: 

“Gentlemen, it is as I have said. Seftor Fe- 
brero has carried conviction to my mind. You 
have me now converted — to blasphemy, judicial 
atheism, materialism, unbridled and radical Dar- 
winism. There is no more to be said. I have 
become a disciple of Seftor Febrero; we must 
adapt ourselves to the times and float with the 
stream. Here you have me ready to declare 
myself the protector and defender of every assas- 
sin. Assassin, do I say? There are no assassins. 
Sefior Febrero has done away with the distinc- 
tion between the assassin and the man of irre- 
proachable conduct. For him the man who 
strangles the mother who bore him is the same 
as the man who dutifully and affectionately cares 
for her.” 

Febrero looked again fixedly at Caftamo, this 
time with more contempt than good-humor, and 
feeling in his pocket for his cigar-case, responded 
with a shrug of his shoulders to his adversary’s 


134 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


attack. Febrero was quick and passionate, and 
his nervo-sanguineous temperament impelled him 
to discussion, as his iron muscles impel the ath- 
lete to combat. He had resolved, however — and 
he was a man who kept the promises he made to 
himself — not to allow himself to be led into the 
polemical arena by Siete Patibulos. Two or 
three crushing or ironical phrases — these were all 
that was required. This system drove Canamo 
to the verge of frenzy. 

“To say truth,” declared Palmares, “the theo- 
ries of friend Febrero are — a little strong, a little 
strong. They would do away with the adminis- 
tration of justice.” 

“If they were applied to the army,” observed 
Cafiamo, “we should have it disbanded in a 
Iveek. Discipline would be destroyed, and insub- 
ordination would spread through the ranks. I 
repeat that it would be impossible to maintain 
an army.” 

“Or public government,” declared the dele- 
gate of the Treasury. “It is necessary to punish 
severely all crimes against property, whether 
public or private. The idea of crime is the basis 
of administrative responsibility. It appears to 
me, however, that, in attacking friend Febrero 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 135 

(who has given us up as hopeless cases and does 
not think it worth while to defend his opinions) 
you credit him with theories which he does not 
profess, or at least you interpret those he does 
profess in a very violent manner, pushing them 
to extremes and giving them a range which they 
do not possess. Am I mistaken, Febrero?” 

“You have stated the case exactly, Sefior Del- 
egate,” responded Febrero, drawing his first puff 
from his cigarette and arching his eyebrows, a 
gesture which caused two or three lines to appear 
on his smooth forehead surmounted with abun- 
dant black hair. 

“Why, it is quite clear,” assented Moragas, a 
great admirer of and sympathizer with Febrero. 
“To hear Canamo one would suppose that Lucio 
had undertaken to convert society into a set of 
prisoners at large, and that he was going to found 
a prize for the man who should beat the life out 
of his mother-in-law or lunch off the rib of a new- 
born babe. What Febrero does is to examine 
those questions from a scientific point of view, 
nothing more.” 

“Ah !” vociferated Arturito, whose prominent 
staring eyes, that Primo Cova compared to two 
hard-boiled eggs, had become bloodshot and yel- 


136 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


low. “Ah ! that is precisely your mistake, a mis- 
take fatal in itself and productive of terrible con- 
sequences. The standpoint from which we are 
to examine questions of so transcendent impor- 
tance must not be scientific, but ethical, ethica-al, 
ethica-a-al. That is to say that this difficult, most 
difficult problem belongs of right to the sphere 
of the moral and political sciences. No, gentle- 
men, it is not by the criterion of inert and blind 
matter, of the absurd fatalism and determinism 
of Epicurus and Busn£r, of the stone that falls, 
nor with the scalpel of the anatomist in the hand, 
that certain things are to be decided. Only, that 
in these melancholy days the partisans of revolu- 
tion and natural selection, atavism and heredity, 
the blind slaves of philogeny and embryogeny, 
persist — lowering our dignity, dragging it 
through the mire — in depriving us of the charac- 
ter of rational beings and comparing us to the 
orang-outang, or, as they say, to the anthropo- 
morphous monkey.” 

Listening to this erudite outburst, Palmares, 
the magistrate, grew still more gloomy, as if he 
saw standing before him, in visible shape, the 
orang-outang, or as if he were being shown in a 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


137 


mirror the blubber lips of the anthropomorphous 
ape from whom he had descended. Moragas 
slyly made a motion under the table as if he 
were winding up a clock, and Pareja, nudging 
Cartone, said aloud : 

“Let us hear, let us hear what answer Febrero 
has to make to that. It appears to me that 
there is no escape from the argument. Will you 
be able to crush Cafiamo?” 

“Canamo knows very well that I will not crush 
him,” responded the young lawyer, making up 
his mind to speak, and throwing away his ciga- 
rette. “How do you suppose one could venture 
to dispute with a person of learning so vast? 
Half the things Arturito has mentioned I do not 
even know the meaning of, or whether they are 
to be eaten with a spoon or not. So that ” 

“So that, if you take those questions as a joke 
— then ” began Cafiamo angrily. 

“Not that, by Heaven!” replied Febrero, 
whose dark face flushed and whose eyes flashed, 
“not that! So seriously do I take them that I 
will not discuss them with you.” 

“Sefior, that remark — especially if taken liter- 
ally- 


yy 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


138 

“Seftor, you are at perfect liberty to take it in 
whatever way you choose — and to continue to 
enlighten us.” 

“Enlighten you!” responded Siete Patibulos, 
livid with rage. “Why, it is you who ought to 
enlighten us. From you we shall acquire the 
rare and curious information that crime begins 
in the vegetable kingdom. What! did you not 
know that? Well, Seftor Palmares, Seftor Noza- 
les, the day you least expect it, you will have to 
try and to condemn to imprisonment for life 
some handful of lucern or capsicum — for, accord- 
ing to Seftor Febrero (I wager that he will not 
dare now to repeat the eccentricity), there are 
delinquent plants, plants that steal and plants 
that murder; that murder, but don’t imagine 
that they murder in an ordinary way, no, but 
with premeditation, treachery, cruelty — all the 
aggravating circumstances.” 

“And whoever should say so would say the 
truth,” remarked Moragas, remembering some- 
thing he had read in his Revue de Psychiatrie. 
“They are the insectivorous plants. You may 
well say they murder ” 

His hearers’ shouts of laughter did not allow 
Moragas to explain the phenomenon. Arturito 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 139 

had gained considerable ground by convicting his 
adversary of upholding doctrines so extravagant. 
Febrero made signs to Moragas to be silent, but 
Moragas persisted. 

“According to that you will laugh at the idea 
of the criminality of animals? Well, there is 
such a thing, and such a thing, also, as the punish- 
ment of animals. Do you not remember that in 
the Bible the Mosaic law condemns to death the 
ox that causes the death of a man? Did we not 
read lately in the papers that a bull had been 
indicted by I don’t now remember what bold 
analogist?” 

‘‘Yes, all that is very logical,” hissed Arturito, 
turning to Moragas; “let us admit that egg-plants 
and crickets are criminals, provided we can prove 
that man is not one! You wish to abolish the 
idea of crime, and in abolishing the idea of crime, 
to abolish also the idea of responsibility, and 
with the idea of responsibility that of free-will, 
and abolishing the idea of free-will down with 
punishment, and with punishment down with the 
idea of public vengeance — in other words the 
social conscience — and with another idea, still 
more exalted, if possible, the idea of ” 

“Go on with your ideas,” interrupted Febrero, 


140 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“and as soon as you have finished do me the favor 
to allow me to hear the latest version of the 
crime. I learned yesterday that a murder had 
been committed in Erbeda; but you say that there 
are later developments, and I have been so busy 
all the morning, looking over some books I 
received by mail, that I have not looked at a 
newspaper.” 


IX. 


“Well, there are developments that would 
make your hair stand on end,” answered Nozales. 
“ So ferocious, so inconceivably repulsive as to be 
worthy of savages.” 

“ Are you stating the case now ? ” asked Primo 
Cova maliciously. 

“It is the same thing as if I were,” replied the 
attorney-general, not without impatience. “ I 
prejudge nothing, nor are these gentlemen ” 
(pointing to Palmares), “ nor I, nor anyone else, 
going to form an opinion from what we may say 
here to-day, but from the evidence given on the 
trail ; let us, however, admit provisionally what 
most of the newspapers say to be true, and 
acknowledge that the crime is one so patent that 
it needs no proof. In the evening an honest 
laborer, a poor cartman, returns to his home and 
takes his supper peacefully with his wife and his 
little child. He goes to bed, to rest from the toils 
of the day. Scarcely does the wicked woman, his 
wife, see him asleep, and, horrors of horrors ! the 

X4i 


142 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


child lying in the same bed with him asleep also, 
then she goes out in search of her lover, who is, 
in fact, the brother-in-law of the future victim. 
And they return, and she gives the lover the 
knife, and places a tub under the husband’s head, 
and takes down the light and holds it while they 
bleed him as they would a hog ; there, there 
where his daughter is asleep, the little girl that 
does not even open her eyes. And presently 
they empty the blood caught in the tub into the 
river, and they dress the corpse, and the brother- 
in-law throws it over the back of an ass and they 
leave it in a pinewood, having first smashed in 
the head with a hatchet, so that it may be thought 
he was killed there, either in a quarrel or God 
knows how. All in order to indulge at their ease 
an impure and brutal passion ! ” 

The assemblage listened with interest to this 
dramatic narration. When Don Carmelo had 
ended, Cartone, who swore like the lovers of the 
old comedies, exclaimed : 

“ God’s life ! By all the devils ! ” 

•And Moragas interposed with vivacity: 

“ Sefior Nozales, it is of no use. We are not 
dramatizing an accusation here, ci la Melendez 
Valdes. The honest carter was an idle and 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


143 


brutal* drunkard who beat his wife. On the night 
of the murder he was stupefied with drink ; only 
in this way can it be explained that he should 
allow himself to be killed without making the 
Feast attempt to defend himself. And as for its 
being in order to indulge an impure passion — 
they say they did that without needing to kill 
him, and that he knew all about the affair. So 
that there must be some mystery in it, some 
psychological or physiological problem, or the 
two things combined, which it is your part, 
gentlemen, to solve.” 

“ I have already said that I do not prejudge,” 
declared Nozales, biting his lips. 

“You do not prejudge, but you accuse.” 

“ No; do you know what you must tell these 
gentlemen, to satisfy them ? ” interposed Siete 
Patibulos. “ You must tell them that every crim- 
inal is insane, and that it is because he was in- 
sane that he committed the crime. I have a 
little nephew who beats his sisters, and when his 
mother scolds him do you know the excuse the 
boy makes? He says he couldn’t help it, that 
there came up from his stomach something — 
something that when it reached his hand turned 
into a blow. Those of the irresistible impulse are 


144 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


like the boy, and if we cure him with a whipping, 
those ” 

“You would give us a flogging?” interrupted 
Febrero, looking at Cafiamo with a smile of inso- 
lent mockery. “ I had suspected as much, Seflor 
de Cafiamo. I already supposed that, if you had 
your wish, you would re-establish in all its splen- 
dor the use of the cord, the weights, the rack, the 
wedges, the three gallons of water poured through 
a funnel, with the other modes of questioning 
employed by our illustrious ancestors. And we 
should also return to the cutting off of the hands 
and feet, the perforating the tongue with a hot 
iron, the lash, the anointing women with oil and 
then covering them with feathers, the quartering 
of men, the red mark on the shoulder — all the 
infamous and cruel punishments whose relics you 
so zealously preserve. And woe to him who 
touches these relics ! Am I not right, Senor de 
Cafiamo ? That is the Sanctum Sanctorum .” 

Cafiamo’s sallow features contracted, and his 
prominent cheek bones grew pale with anger; his 
voice trembled with passion, as he answered : 

“Yes, yes, I know that everything will end in 
that; I know that that is the object of the pre- 
tended reforms and the end to which those infa- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


145 


mous theories lead. They desire to establish irre- 
sponsibility in order that, under its protection, 
they may pull down the pillars of the edifice, 
already everywhere undermined, by attacking 
society at its very foundations. They desire 
to reach with the pickax the base, the inmost 
center on which rest peace, order, justice, the 
harmonious progress of the whole social organ- 
ism. They desire, I shudder to say it, to loosen 
the cornerstone, to abolish capital punishment ! ” 

A scene of confusion followed the utterance of 
the words capital punishment; everyone wished 
to give expression to his views, to object, to 
affirm, to deny, to argue. But above the flood of 
opinions that were to throw light on the subject 
rose the voice of Primo Cova, who screamed in 
sharp falsetto : 

“ Take care how you touch that point when 
Cafiamo is present! Capital punishment! Why 
that is his sore spot. Didn’t you know that? 
He has published articles on the subject in every 
newspaper in the town, in Madrid, and in America, 
and it is estimated that the number of articles he 
has already published would weight, if they were 
put together, at least thirty quintals. The under- 
takers have all joined to present him with a crown 


146 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


of jet beads. He has made the profoundest in- 
vestigations on the subject ; he has Becaria, Fil- 
angieri, and Silvela at his fingers’ ends. Only he 
has left us a doubt, a horrible uncertainty. He 
has not been able to tell us positively what is the 
first person of the indicative mood, present tense, 
of the verb abolir .* He has not decided whether 
we are to say : yo abuelo, or yo abolo. Unable to 
determine which to give the preference to he 
accepted both, and wrote the following verse : 

Mi abuela quiera que abuela\ 

Yo la pena capital ; 

Yo no soy bolo y no abolo 
La garantia social ! 


Shouts of laughter greeted Primo Cova’s im- 

• 

pertinent squib. The conversation lost its serious 
character, the somber tinge imparted to i.t by the 
narration of the crime disappeared, and, in the 
midst of jests and epigrams, stimulated by the 
evident annoyance of the exasperated Arturito, 

* To abolish. 

f An untranslatable play upon words, the signification of the 
lines being, more or less, as follows : 

My grandmother wishes me to abolish, 

To please her, the death-penalty ! 

But I’m not foolish, and I won’t abolish 
The safeguard of society ! 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


147 


a discussion, purely grammatical, in which every- 
one took part, was started, as to whether one 
should say abuelo or abolo ; much indignation and 
the fiercest protests being caused by the opinion 
of Don Dario Cortes, who affirmed that one 
should say neither abuelo nor abolo, but abulo , 
quoting authorities and weighty arguments in 
support of his opinion. This petty dispute was 
maintained with incredible heat. The questions 
which had originated the discussion — the degree 
of responsibility which should attach to criminals 
and the expediency of capital punishment — 
were forgotten. And this assemblage of com- 
paratively sensible, enlightened, and serious men, 
suddenly becoming more agitated than a sea in a 
storm, burst into bitter and defiant expressions, 
exchanged bets, vociferated loudly enough to 
bring down the Casino, causing the waiter to re- 
quest them not to scream, “ that they could be 
heard plainly from the street,” and finally some 
of the disputants declared themselves ready to 
stake their lives in support of their opinions — 
all this for an insignificant disagreement, like 
those Greeks of Byzantium who killed one another 
on account of a difference of opinion as to the way 
in which they should cross themselves, while the 


148 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

sound of the hoofs of the invaders’ horses drew 
nearer and nearer. 

Febrero did not care to take part in this dis- 
cussion, either. His example was followed by 
Moragas (who, on any other occasion, would not 
have failed to raise his voice like anyone else). 
Shortly afterward the lawyer and the doctor left 
the Casino together, and, without a word, as if by 
a common impulse, the moment they turned the 
corner of the street which leads to the promenade 
of the Terraplen, they linked their arms together, 
like persons disposed for a long chat, to which the 
serenity of the evening and the mildness of the 
spring air, freshened by an occasional salty breath 
from the sea, invited. The light skiff of the new 
moon was already sailing in the sky, and the even- 
ing star glistened like a fixed and loving gaze that 
seems about to melt into tears. 

Neither of the two men — who, without being 
united by either a very old or a very strong 
friendship, were united at that moment by af- 
finity of thought and feeling — uttered a word 
until they found themselves beyond the region 
of umbrageous, symmetrical, and carefully- 
trimmed trees which forms the broad and magnifi- 
cent promenade of the Terraplen. For there 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


149 


were not only trees but human beings also, idle 
promenaders. Having passed the last row of 
plane trees and acacias they found themselves 
at the Malecon, always solitary, which has for 
horizon the waters, at this time peaceful and 
gently ruffled by the breeze, of the bay. Moragas 
was the first to burst forth. (Febrero, although 
vehement, was more reserved, and had already 
acquired the habit of self-repression acquired in 
the end by all genuine reformers.) 

“ Did you ever see the like? What a crew! 
A fine areopagus ! That is why I never set foot 
there.” 

“I go there occasionally,” responded Febrero. 
“ I let them talk, I listen to them, and I learn, 
strange as it may seem. And that, although 
now, when I am present, they are very reserved. 
I don’t know where they got the notion that I 
laugh at what they say. What I do not do is 
to take part in their disputes. Nothing in the 
world would induce me to do that. Although I 
believe that I was born for the propaganda, I 
consider that for this oral propaganda the minds 
of the people here are not yet ripe, nor is the 
ground prepared. I will not say that this oral 
propaganda would be altogether bad, provided 


150 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

always one could have a select audience, capable 
of receiving the idea with some clearness and of 
disseminating it in their turn without altering it 
greatly. To throw it there in the Casino de la 
Amistad or in any other Casino, to be sullied, 
distorted, and trampled upon, that is what I will 
not do. That would be to profane it, and to pro- 
fane it in vain. Do not imagine that it has not 
cost me something to learn to restrain myself ; to 
smile and to be silent when I hear them give 
utterance to all sorts of atrocities and absurdities ; 
never to lose my calmness ; to evade the attacks 
of malicious fools, like that Canamo, who are al- 
ways trying to provoke me to some discussion in 
orderto have it to say that they have defeated me, 
and to make myself felt through my very quiet- 
ness and reserve which, sooner or later, produce 
an effect upon the multitude. So that I restrain 
myself, and I will continue to restrain myself, and 
they shall not draw me into any ridiculous posi- 
tion. You saw what the conversation was to- 
day — a string of incoherencies and extravagances, 
and at the end one of those grammatical disputes 
so Byzantine and so tiresome, from which they will 
derive as much profit as the negro did from the 
sermon. No, the only propaganda is that of the 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


IS* 

press (without including newspaper polemics, 
however, unless with enlightened men, men of 
weight and importance, and it is needless to say 
that I refer to the press of Madrid), that of books, 
and a certain influence over the minds of a few 
intelligent, earnest persons, duly prepared, and 
who believe in a God and in the progress of 
humanity— as you believe.’ ’ 

“ Firmly,” declared Moragas, standing still for 
a moment and looking out over the bay, a scene 
whose charm impressed him more deeply than 
ever at that instant. “ As to the first I imagine 
I have never had any doubts ; as to the second I 
feel disquieted and uneasy only when I find my- 
self in the midst of a crowd like that which we 
have just left. Cafiamo, especially, is a type. It 
is appalling to think that that man aspires to the 
magistracy. Do you suppose he would not be 
capable of re-establishing the torture ? Only let 
him have the chance ! ” 

“And what would there be strange in that? 
The times when torture was practiced are com- 
paratively recent, they are of yesterday — of yes- 
terday, do I say ? of to-day ; those punishments 
are still in force, in many places, and, if we look 
into the question closely, we shall find that the 


* 5 2 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


portion of humanity which accepts torture is 
larger than the portion which rejects it. The 
world has at the present day only a veneering of 
civilization that may be lifted with a pin, reveal- 
ing the primitive barbarism beneath. We must 
not be impatient : we must keep calm — and do 
what we can, which sometimes seems to me very 
little and again a great deal — according to the 
humor I am in, and the point of view I take.” 

While thus conversing they had crossed the 
slope of the Malecon which skirts the promenade, 
and they were approaching a part of the shore 
where a number of small, empty boats, lying 
motionless, with sails lowered and oars crossed 
over their edges, cast their shadows on the sur- 
face of the bay. A strong and penetrating odor 
of iodine and sea-weed rose from the water, and 
in the distance the lanterns of Olmeda cast 
broken rings of light upon its surface. Uncon- 
sciously our promenaders turned their steps to- 
ward the wooden wharf, or Espolon, which 
tempted them by its solitude at this hour, not 
comparative, merely, but absolute. They walked 
along the swaying platform, always trembling 
with the action of the waves, even on days of 
complete serenity, such as the present. And 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


153 


they walked on and on, as if, in proceeding 
along this road, that, seeming to lead toward the 
ocean, led only to a red light, they were advanc- 
ing along the progress of which they had been 
speaking. Nothing was to be seen on either 
hand but the sea. Through the loosely joined 
boards of the wharf they could see below their 
feet the dark water. In the distance they saw 
the vast bulk of a German frigate which had 
entered the harbor some hour and a half before, 
and at the extremity of the long Espolon the 
mast of a dredge rising toward heaven, as if to 
affirm what Moragas had just so explicitly ac- 
knowledged his belief in — the existence of a God 
and the progress of humanity. 

At the extremity of the Espolon the two inter- 
locutors paused, and, invited by the mildness of 
the temperature, seated themselves on a large 
log, their faces turned toward the open sea, from 
which came that fresh and invigorating air that 
seems to dispose the soul to combat and to dan- 
ger. The sheet of water, shut in on the right by 
a graceful curve of rounded mountains, stretched 
away into the distance on the left and, notwith- 
standing its perfect serenity, kept up its incessant 
plaint, that plaint which reminds one of the dis- 


154 the angular stone. 

tant hum of a human multitude or the soughing 
of the wind rushing through the trees. 

Moragas turned toward Febrero, and in a low 
voice (although no one was within hearing) said : 

“ For me crime is a disease, and the criminal 
a sick man. And this disease can be combated 
and often cured. Punish him — why? Do you 
punish the man who has a cancer, who is suffer- 
from an ulcer ? ” 

“ There we begin to differ,” responded Febrero. 
You are, from what I see, a correctionalist . I, 
either go further, or not so far, I don’t quite know 
which. I believe there is a type of humanity 
that, from its organization, is disposed to crime. 
Don’t imagine that I suppose the individual in 
these cases comes into the world differing from 
other individuals, as an anomaly of the species. 
On the contrary ; humanity it is that was in the 
beginning altogether criminal ; the farther back 
you go, aided by the scanty scientific data which 
we now possess, the more you will see the man of 
the primitive epochs committing, as the most 
natural thing in the world, homicide* robbery, 
rape, and cannibalism — the acts that to-day excite 
most horror. There still remain on the globe 
examples of what the primitive hordes may have 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 155 

been — the savages of certain races. How do the 
survivors of the age of stone employ themselves? 
In eating one another and abandoning themselves 
without restraint to the most brutal passions. 
And that which is general among the savages ap- 
pears in the countries which we call civilized as 
isolated cases — but it appears ; and to a case of this 
kind we give the name criminal , when in reality it 
should be called an apparition , a specter from an- 
other age, a resuscitation or, as it is called in scien- 
tific language, a case of atavism ; not because 
every family has had criminals among its ancestors, 
but because all the ancestry of man is criminal. 
These ideas, which Caftamo would call infamous 
theories, are only an application to the science of 
anthropology of two fundamental Christian dog- 
mas — the dogma of the fall , or original sin, and 
that of the redemption. Therefore, in the work of 
redemption we can all, great and little, co-operate, 
even if only in infinitesimal degree.” 

“ That has always been my opinion,” assented 
Moragas, with delighted enthusiasm. “ In my 
sphere I have put it largely in practice, if only as 
a compensation for those occasions on which we 
are all apt to betray something of primitive hu- 
manity.” 


156 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

“You see then,” resumed Febrero, “that, 
thinking as I do, there can be no more evident 
calumny than to accuse me of being the defender 
and friend of criminals. To hear and read cer- 
tain criticisms on those of us who wish to make 
the study and rational investigation of crime a 
science, one would suppose that our aim was to 
sanctify the handcuffs and to elevate murderers 
to the category of martyrs. I am a hundred 
leagues away from any such sentimentalism. 
But try to make Cafiamo and company under- 
stand that, if you can ! ” 

“ Something of the same kind happens with 
me,” said Moragas. “ Although I do not 
exactly regard criminals as martyrs I confess 
that I have an indulgence for them, a peculiar 

pity ” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed the young lawyer, “ I knew 
it ; you had no need to tell it to me. You, who 
believe in repentance, in correction, and in reform- 
ation act on the impulse of feeling ; steeped in 
certain profoundly Christian ideas you are 
redeemers ; for you the phenomenon of relapse 
into sin, which to us affords so much food for 
thought, has no meaning. Well, popular wisdom 
proves you to be in the wrong : The wolf loses 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 157 

his teeth but not his nature.’ ‘ Bad habits are 
seldom got rid of.’ ‘ Features and temper 
never change.’ Sentiment ! Notwithstanding 
that you are a man of science, accustomed by 
your profession to apply the experimental and 
positive method to the study of crime, you are 
actuated by sentiment, as much as Cafiamo is. 
bon’t be frightened ; that fool Cafiamo acts on 
the impulse of feeling, but of base, unworthy feel- 
ing, of hatred, fear, and revenge. The criminal 
for him is a personal enemy ; the executioner an 
ally and a defender; the gallows the corner- 
stone. Who can doubt that Cafiamo takes his 
ideas from the primitive law of humanity, which 
was the lex talionis — an eye for an eye and a 
tooth for a tooth. And just as there are still 
among us examples of primitive humanity, so 
does this spirit of personal revenge survive in the 
codes. The origin of the idea of justice is self- 
ish ; it begins by the sentiment of personal de- 
fense; as for the pure, disinterested, ethical idea 
of justice, that is still in the state of what the 
Germans call werden. Humanity is a collective 
individual that, with the ages, improves and con- 
forms to law, and who will end, perhaps, by 
becoming the perfect being ! In this way, you 


I5« THE ANGULAR STONE . 

see that I, too, am a correctionalist , not of the 
individual , however, but of the species .” 

“ So that you do not absolutely condemn 
capital punishment, which to me appears a blot 
upon society ?” asked the doctor, alarmed. 

“ I do not condemn it absolutely ; not at all,” 
returned the lawyer, with a certain solemnity. 
“ What I condemn unreservedly and boldly are 
capital punishment, as a reprisal, and the idea of 
public vengeance. This seems to me so odious 
and so repulsive that — I will confess my weak- 
ness to you — notwithstanding the interest which 
I ought to take in that class of studies and the 
obligation which, in a certain sense, I have con- 
tracted to pursue them, on the days just preced- 
ing an execution, when the newspapers begin to 
herald it, a feeling of disturbance takes posses- 
sion of me, a sort of quartan fever, and I become 
so restless that I am obliged to go away to the 
country. It is an absurdity and I should like to 
cure myself of it, for in reality I need, we re- 
formers all need, here and everywhere a great 
deal of coolness, the impassibility with which 
you physicians amputate a, limb or examine a 
tissue. Yes, believe me, the enemy we most 
need to combat are the feelings — the metaphysi- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


159 


cal entities that block up the path of reason. 
We need to be like an iceberg — an iceberg that 
thinks." 

“ I believe, friend Lucio,” objected Moragas, 
“ that there you are wrong. For everything im- 
petus, heat, and enthusiasm are required. Reason 
enlightens, but only the will moves. The present 
generation of the young is cold, is too self-con- 
trolled, sees too plainly the inconvenience of the 
propaganda, the ridicule, the calumny, the annoy- 
ances of all sorts which those must suffer who 
try to couch, in any land, the cataracts of the 
mind. Only those of us who are growing old — 
for I am much nearer fifty than forty — preserve 
the sacred fire. Here am I, who need chiefly to 
restrain a certain quixotism, what you call re- 
de nipt or ism, which. springs up within me constantly 
and which would lead me I know not whither, if 
I did not keep it within bounds. Well, that, that 
and not the perennial ice of reason, is what is 
needed to aid in the work — to aid the grain of 
sand — you are wanting in passion.” 

“ It may be so. Don’t imagine that this has 
not occurred to me,” returned Febrero. “ Our 
aim is purely scientific. We desire to abolish the 
ethical conceptions by which we are hampered. 


160 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

We wish to substitute for the abstract study of 
the thing crime the concrete study of the sub- 
ject criminal. We say, as you say, that we 
know nothing of diseases , but only of the sick . 
Away with metaphysics. The man whom the 
vulgar call a guilty man we call only a dangerous 
man. Let us abolish the idea of punishment and 
substitute in its stead that of curative treatment. 
When we eliminate, our action will be analogous 
to yours when you bleed a man suffering from 
hydrophobia. And if we see a means *of avoiding 
this blood-letting, be sure that we shall avoid it.” 

“ I should hope so ! ” responded Moragas hotly. 
“ Search, find out the means — for there must be 
some means — of removing from the civilization 
of our age the stain of that grotesque horror 
called the scaffold, and abolishing that social 
enigma called the executioner! ” 

As he uttered this word, Moragas fancied he 
could hear, in the plashing of the water against 
the stanchions and piles that supported the 
Espolon, the hoarse voice of Juan Rojo and the 
low moan of Telmo. 

“You know well that the scaffold is not in the 
odor of sanctity with us,” responded the young 
lawyer. “ There are a thousand reasons why we 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


161 


should despise , literally despise, that apparatus of 
the law, as it is employed at the present day. 
Observe the movement of opinion, study it, and 
you will perceive that one of the few mediaeval 
sentiments which have survived to our times, and 
one which even gains strength every day, is the 
hatred of the executioner. The executioner is 
more a pariah to-day than he was in the Middle 
Ages. The conviction, vague but strong, exists 
that he is no more than a murderer hired by so- 
ciety. And, speaking logically, what is the differ- 
ence between saying ‘ We decide that the prisoner 
deserves death and we condemn him to death,’ 
and turning a crank? But the magistrate is re- 
garded with respect, the executioner with hatred. 
Observe that in some of the most advanced 
nations, the United States, for instance, they 
attempt to abolish the executioner while retain- 
ing the death penalty. Either they lynch — which 
shows an anarchical but frank and youthful state 
of society, in which all judge and execute — or 
they kill by electricity, in which method the exe- 
cutioner does not exist. At any rate a real exe- 
cutioner scarcely inspires me with more horror 
than such props of the scaffold as Canamo.” 

“According to that you would not object to 


162 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


hold intercourse with the public official ?” asked 
Moragas, with animation, “ in order to study him, 
to know him ? ” 

“ I should not object to do so in a broader 
sphere. Here, yes, because — my kingdom is not 
of Marineda. For the rest I believe that the 
study of the executioner, which is yet to be made, 
would complete that of the criminal. Every 
executioner is necessarily a case, a retrogressive 
anomaly, a psychological monstrosity. His posi- 
tion is much more extraordinary than that of the 
criminal. But here — well, here it is better not to 
see such a beast of prey. The persons we ought 
to see, and whom we shall go together to see, if 
you wish, are the murderess and her accomplice ; 
not now, while the excitement and discussion are 
at their height, but afterward, when the trial has 
been concluded ; in short, at some future time, 
when the public shall have forgotten the crimi- 
nals in their prison. You say the woman has a 
mild expression ? ” 

“ She has,” affirmed Moragas, “ so mild that 
you would be astonished if you saw her. I cannot 
forget her expression. I am obliged to make an 
effort of self-control to avoid constituting myself 
her protector. Happy you, friend Febrero, for 


THE ANGULAR 'STONE. 1 63 

whom sensible objects take the form of an equa- 
tion or of an algorithm. Here am I, with the 
weight of half a century on my shoulders, and 
with all the disillusions I have had, still capable, 
because I saw a young and modest woman led 
along a prisoner by the civil guards, of making 
myself utterly ridiculous.” 

“Take care, then !” responded Febrero. “Re- 
member that that is what the Caftamos want ! ” 


X. 


When he parted from Febrero, Moragas 
returned to his house, and, five minutes after- 
ward, left it again, completely transformed — 
without frock coat or gloves, enveloped 'in a 
cloak, his head* covered by a low broad-brimmed 
hat tipped slightly to one side. One might have 
thought he was going to some clandestine meet- 
ing or an assembly of conspirators. This time 
he was far from deafening the neighborhood with 
the noise of his carriage-wheels. He proceeded 
with a step cautious and stealthy as that of the 
wolf until, crossing the Paramo de Solares and 
walking up the Campo de Belona, he turned into 
the Calle del Pehascal which led to the Calle del 
Faro. 

Once here, and sure that no one followed or 
was watching him, he looked around him and 
surveyed the place, significant and melancholy 
enough. The neighborhood in which a man lives, 
and the house he chooses for his habitation, 
always reveal to the observer something of his 

164 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 165 

character and condition. Not without reason 
had Rojo chosen for his dwelling this hovel, 
precisely the last house of the town, beyond 
which rose only the cold, white walls of the 
cemetery. 

This man had to be the neighbor of death, and 
to live as he did in this gloomy hut with its red 
doors and windows that had the effect of a dirty 
cloth stained with large splashes of blood. Not 
without reason, too, were the five houses which 
connected that of Rojo with the other houses 
of the town always uninhabited ; doubtless no 
one had wished to occupy these sinister looking 
barracks, contaminated by the near neighbor- 
hood of this ignominy incarnate. Not without 
reason, too, did the fields of the suburbs — which 
thus far had been animated by some attractive 
note of an agricultural character — a barn or a 
stack of corn husks, an unyoked cart, some bud- 
ding shrub, some potato-field beginning to flower 
— assume, near the infamous hovel, so rugged 
and arid a character, producing only brambles or 
stretching away in waste, barren lands. And 
finally, not without reason did the sea serve as 
the background to the hovel and the cemetery ; 
not the sea of the placid bay, with its lulling 


1 66 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


murmur, that at the extremity of the Espolon 
had accompanied with harmonious accents a 
dialogue between thinkers — but the broad, free, 
thundering Cantabrian sea that, with swell now 
hoarse, now sonorous, now plaintive and mourn- 
ful, now angry and fierce, lashes the cliffs, writhes 
upon and eats away the beach, and scales the 
rocks that crown the little promontory of the 
Faro, garlanding them with a snowy flood of 
angry foam dissolved as soon as formed. 

“The place tells the story,” thought Moragas. 
“This man, the opprobrium of society, could 
live nowhere but here, in a sort of wild beast’s 
lair. But in all law and justice, if this man lives 
here, Canamo and those who think like him 
ought to congregate in a special quarter, the 
quarter where the court, the prison, the peniten- 
tiary, the gallows field, and Rojo’s house itself, 
should stand. Then, they who have created this 
outcast should do no less than raise the interdict 
placed upon him, and cause what they call justice 
to be respected in his person. Yes, propose it to 
them. Rather than go near him they would 
be capable of letting the boy die, a victim to his 
father’s social condition^’ 

Reflecting thus, and forgetting that, on the 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


167 


previous day, he himself had not wished to at- 
tend the boy (which proves that Moragas had 
made great progress in twenty-four hours), he 
resolved to make what he called in his own mind 
a descent into the infernal regions , and turning his 
head he cast his eyes around to ascertain if any- 
one was in sight, who might observe him enter- 
ing the hut. Having assured himself that no 
prying eyes were near he put his hand on the 
latch — and this movement reawakened the aver- 
sion and repugnance of the preceding day — 
something that might be called a cold dread, a 
dread unaccompanied by any real or positive 
fear. He overcame this sensation ; he overcame 
also the impression it produced upon him to see, 
leaning against the wall in the hall, a ladder — 
which brought to his mind the ladder formerly 
worn in their hats, as a symbol of the gallows, by 
executioners, and, as he had once plunged into 
a fetid pool to rescue a child who was drowning, 
he now plunged into the interior of the sordid 
dwelling. 

La Marinera was not there. Only the father 
was watching by Telmo’s bedside. For the first 
few moments the doctor and Rojo did not inter- 
change a word. The latter rose to his feet, the 


i68 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


former laid his hand on the bandaged head, and 
then placed the thermometer under the arm of 
the patient. When he removed it, shook it, and 
examined it by the light, he saw that it marked 
forty degrees, the temperature of a burning fever. 

“Has he eaten anything?” he asked. 

“Not an atom, Senor. Orangeades only.” 

“Have you given him the antipyrine?” 

“Yes, Sefior, everything you ordered. This 
morning he looked brighter, although he moaned 
a great deal. Toward the afternoon the fever 
increased.” 

“Well, to-morrow or to-night, if he is better, 
give him some nourishing broth. It is possible 
that the fever is kept up by debility.” 

“It must be so, because he wanders; that is to 
say, he is one moment in a stupor, and suddenly 
he begins to talk and say — dreadful things.” 

“Dreadful things?” repeated Moragas, laying 
his cloak on a chair, preparatory to making his 
examination of the boy’s injuries. “And what 
are the dreadful things your son says?” 

“He is always saying that he is brave and that 
he can fight with anyone; and that they may 
throw all the stones they like at him, that he 
won’t surrender for that. It is all : ‘You may 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


169 


kill me, you may kill me, but you won’t have it 
to say that I was conquered. I am General 

H or General *R . I have no army, but 

I don’t need one, I can defend the castle alone. 
Throw all the stones you want.’ I suspect, Don 
Pelayo, that the boys of the Institute have 
treated this poor child vilely. I almost think 
they have stoned him to death.” 

“If that be the case it is indeed dreadful, 
although natural and explicable.” 

Rojo did not answer; he suppressed a groan, 
and took up his post as before by the bedside of 
the wounded- boy. Moragas, meanwhile, gently 
lifted the bandage to examine the condition of 
the wounds in the head, and then, raising the 
sheet, looked at the dislocated foot. Desirous of 
probing other wounds, rather than of examining 
these physical ones, he turned to Rojo and said : 

“I suppose you will attend strictly to the 
orders I am going to give you about the boy and 
will follow all my instructions carefully. For no 
doubt you are very fond of this child.” 

Rojo shrugged his shoulders. 

“He is all I have,” he answered dully. 

His professional duty fulfilled, having carefully 
examined the patient and given his instructions, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


170 

verbally and in writing, Moragas might have re- 
tired, but certain it is that, instead of doing so, 
he took a chair and sat down in it as if he had no 
urgent business to call him away. On the morn- 
ing of the day before he would have angrily and 
indignantly contradicted anyone who had pre- 
dicted that he would sit down in such a house. 
Assuming an indifferent air and mechanically 
smoothing his whiskers, he turned his bright gray 
eyes on Rojo and asked him carelessly: 

“Had you never any other children?’ 

’‘Yes, Seftor, — I lost another, a little girl, with 
the measles, when she was very young.” 

“Happy she!” commented Moragas in expres- 
sive accents. “Believe me when I say,” he con- 
tinued, with the same solemnity, “that if I were 
called to attend that child and knew that her life 
depended on a dose of a certain medicine or on 
the cut of a lancet, I, who, to save a child’s life, 
would go into a hot oven — I believe that I would 
put my hands into my pockets and allow your 
daughter to die without a scruple.” 

Rojo neither protested nor showed in any 
other way that these cruel words had roused his 
indignation. His furtive glance wandered over 
the painted floor, and his pallid lips moved as if 


THE ANGULAR STONE . 17 1 

trying in vain to form some connected answer. 
At last he stammered : 

“You are — you are quite right. The greatest 
favor you could have done the — the little angel 
would be — to let her die. She, at least, is well 
off. Happy she!” 

Moragas was rejoiced to hear these words, for 
he took them as an indication that his proposed 
interrogatory was taking a satisfactory direction. 

“According to that,” he said, “you understand 
perfectly what your own position, and that of 
your children, as a consequence, is?” 

“How could I help understanding it?” 

“But,” insisted the doctor, “do you understand 
it thoroughly? Are you fully conscious of the 
fate reserved for the poor boy who is raving on 
that bed? Can you form to yourself an idea of 
his present and his future? Of the ignominious 
legacy of hatred and humiliation which you will 
leave him? Of what he is to-day, and of what he 
will be to-morrow? Are you aware that that 
boy, if he were capable of reasoning, as we 
mature men reason, instead of praying to God to 
preserve him to his father would pray to him to 
take him from him?” 

Rojo made no immediate answer to these 


172 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


uncompromising words with which the doctor went 
straight to the heart of his subject, boldly cut- 
ting to the quick. Only his trepidation betrayed 
that Moragas had laid his finger on the ten- 
derest part of the sore. 

At last he burst out in broken phrases: 

“I know it all only too well. I am neither 
blind nor a fool. But it’s better not to talk or 
think of those things; for, when there is no 
remedy ” 

“On the contrary!” interrupted Moragas, with 
energy, “you must think of those things, you 
must talk of those things, and a great deal. 
Since you have come into contact with Moragas 
you must not have it to say that the meeting 
was useless and profitless. You came to consult 
me about a bodily ailment — but although you 
have the disease and badly, that is the least of 
your sickness. What you are sick of is the con- 
science, and you have contaminated that innocent 
child who, through your fault, is outlawed and 
on the road to prison. Does not the fact which 
you yourself tell me, that all the pupils of the 
Institute banded together to stone your son, give 
you food for reflection? Do you not in that fact 
foresee clearly the future of the boy? To be 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


173 


stoned you destine him, and stoned he will be all 
his life. Why do you not strangle him, you 
whose business it is to strangle?” 

Moragas pronounced these words with so much 
vehemence, urged by an irresistible impulse, 
that Rojo turned livid, rather than pale, his soul 
writhed as if lashed by thongs of steel, and it was 
with some roughness that he answered : 

“In other things anyone can beat me, but not 
in loving my son, who, if it depended upon me, 
would be king of Spain. If he isn’t so it isn’t 
my fault. It is one thing to talk and another 
thing to find yourself placed in the various cir- 
cumstances of a man’s life. With my own hands 
I’m not going to kill my son, but if God should 
take him the child would be the gainer, and I 
too.” 

These last words were accompanied by a sort 
of hoarse groan, and Juan Rojo, forgetting now all 
conventionalities, threw himself on a bench and hid 
his face in his hands, giving evidence of deep dis- 
tress or rather sullen grief. 

Moragas rose. His desire to learn Rojo’s story 
grew stronger every moment. If he knew this 
he would very well be able to judge whether 
or not Rojo were redeemable. Moragas began 


i74 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


to feel the generous ardor, the eagerness to de- 
scend into the depths of hell to draw thence a 
soul — and something, too, of the pleasure of 
showing Febrero that in every dunghill, in the 
vilest and filthiest, there is a pearl, which, by 
force of goodness and abnegation, may be found 
if it is earnestly sought for. He approached 
Rojo and, with a shudder, touched him on the 
shoulder. Rojo did not move. 

“There is no use in grieving or being disheart- 
ened,” he said. “I have already told you that 
our meeting will not have been in vain. Some- 
thing I shall do for that boy that will be of more 
benefit to him than applying bandages or reduc- 
ing a dislocation.” 

Rojo rose to his feet. His face, inexpressive, 
angular, dark, lighted up, as much as it was pos- 
sible for it to light up, with a species of dull 
smile, an operation to which his features were 
not accustomed, and, like one who tries to grasp 
some strong pillar to save himself from drowning, 
he stretched out his arms toward Moragas — who, 
redeemer and all, drew back quickly. What 
Rojo did not do was to speak. What for? His 
attitude was sufficient. 

“Come,” ordered Moragas, comprehending 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


175 


that he had this man henceforth at his disposal 
to do with him as he would. “Sit down again — 
there, away from the bed, so that we may not 
disturb the patient. What is his name? What 
is your son’s name?” 

“Telmo, Sefior.” 

“Well, then, in order not to disturb Telmo, sit 
down there. I will bring my chair, too. Good. 
Now, you are going to tell me your story, point 
for point, and how you came to adopt — so dirty 
and vile a trade.” 

“Don Pelayo,” responded Rojo, in a voice that 
was still hoarse, and slowly twining and untwining 
his hands, “you must excuse me, but — from ignor- 
ant or prejudiced people — well — it does not sur- 
prise me to hear certain things. But from a man 
of education I am a little surprised. Don’t take 
anything I may say ill — because when one doesn’t 
know how to express one’s self, I mean to say, well, 
that all that about being a dirty and vile trade — 
I know of course that the women of the plaza 
say that ; only yesterday, that drunkard, La 
Jarreta, thrust it in my teeth; fancy the princess 
to scorn anyone! But you, who have had differ- 
ent teaching, who have different knowledge, I 
thought, to speak the truth, that you would not 


176 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


sanction those — prejudices. I am tired, yes, 
very tired of hearing at every step, ‘infamy, in- 
famy, vileness, vileness.’ Why infamy? Why 
vileness? What do I do that everyone should 
sing the same song of vileness and infamy?” con- 
tinued Rojo, his tongue now ready and his utter- 
ance warmed by indignation, until he was almost 
eloquent. ‘‘Do I rob the bread from anyone? 
Am I a criminal? Am I a forger? Do I break 
the law in the slightest degree? No one respects 
it more than I do — or obeys it better. Let us 
hear, Sefior Moragas, if you, with your intelli- 
gence, can explain this enigma to me.” 

Moragas listened, restraining himself with an 
effort. Although, seeing Rojo humbled, he had 
felt a certain compassion for him, when Rojo 
rose up in revolt against society, if he had fol- 
lowed his impulse he would have spat upon him 
and insulted him. His silence encouraged Rojo, 
who continued : 

‘‘Yes, Senor, I am as honest a man, if not hon- 
ester, than many of those who turn their backs 
on me and treat me like a dog. No one can 
prove against me that I have ever committed 
the slightest crime. Crime ! Guilt ! It is I who 
suppress them ; if it wasn’t for me — the law 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


177 


might take a holiday. I am not an ordinary 
official. I am the principal, the most necessary 
one. Sometimes I walk along the Calle Mayor 
and there are the gentlemen of the court, the 
attorney-general, the president himself, very stiff 
and very haughty. One salutes them and they 
don’t answer; they turn their faces away and 
pretend not to see one. It makes me laugh ! 
How I laugh — to myself!” (Rojo laughed con- 
vulsively.) ‘‘Let them sentence — and let me not 
carry out the sentence, and you’ll see in what all 
the talk about the law will end ! Suppose that I 
rebel, that we, the public officials, declare our- 
selves on strike; and you’ll see the magistrates 
obliged to carry out their sentences themselves. 
The magistrates ! And am I not as much a mag- 
istrate as they are? I am the supreme magis- 
trate — the one from whose sentence there is no 
possible appeal! Law without me — a fine farce! 
I am the law.” 

Moragas did not think it expedient to attempt 
to refute these desperate sophisms, at least just 
now. Rojo’s words and arguments increased his 
desire to learn the man’s history, and to go back 
to the turbid sources of his life. He thought it 
better to allow the executioner’s outburst of 


173 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


indignation to pass first, however, and only 
answered sarcastically : 

“All that you say may be very true, you may 
be more than right in affirming that you are the 
supreme magistrate, and yet it is not three min- 
utes since you told me that you were glad to 
have lost a girl in her infancy, and that if Telmo 
were to die he would be the gainer and you too.” 

“That is another matter,” answered Rojo. “If 
you attack me on that side, I am hemmed in by 
prejudices and follies, and I can bear them all 
very well, provided they don’t touch the boy. 
As for me, I am perfectly contented and I 
wouldn’t change with anyone,” he declared with 
a boastfulness to which his trembling lips gave 
the lie. “But one’s children — that’s what hurts, 
that’s what hurts sorely. If one worries unceas- 
ingly, if one spends night after night without 
closing an eye, it is on account of them, of them. 
One can bear anything one’s self. And if one 
rebels against all that talk about infamy and vile- 
ness it is because that brands the brow of the 
child — who is innocent as the very angels of 
heaven !” 

Moragas drew his chair nearer to that of Rojo, 
smiled, bit the end of his silky mustache, wiped 


TILE ANGULAR STONE. 


179 


his gold-rimmed glasses, set them on his nose, 
drew down his glossy white cuffs, and lowering 
his eyelids a little, as if he wished to concentrate 
his vision, he said to Rojo : 

“Tell me, did you study anything when you 
were young? Did you follow any career?” 

And Rojo, as if he were saying the most nat- 
ural thing in the world, answered : 

“Yes, Senor, I studied for the priesthood.” 


XI. 


The countenance of Moragas, which from its 
excessive mobility and flexibility seemed at 
times to be made of india rubber, expanded with 
a look of surprise, and then, by a strange blending 
of the humorous element in this dismal and cruel 
conversation the doctor gave vent to the loudest 
and frankest burst of laughter that had ever re- 
sounded within the walls of Rojo’s hovel. 

“For the priesthood, eh? Good! Excellent! 
If you had not told me so I should have guessed 
it. For the priesthood ! Now, then, if you have 
no objection, will you please tell me how you 

took the leap from the hyssop to ” 

An expressive gesture completed the sentence. 
Rojo, docilely, with that emphatic tone which 
common people employ in narrating the events 
of their own life, answered : 

“ I studied Latin for two years in the Seminary 

of Badajoz. And I was quick at learning ” 

“Are you from Estremadura ? ” 

“ No, Senor, I was born in Galicia. My father 

180 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


181 

was from this place and my mother was a Portu- 
guese. But the profession of my father, who 
was a soldier — and of high rank, too — obliged us 
to travel through Spain. Several of my brothers 
and sisters — for I had eleven of them — were born 
in Badajoz ; and we were left orphans, and each 
of us went his own way, to make a living as he 
could.” 

“ So that you had a vocation for an ecclesiasti- 
cal life?” 

“ Yes, Seftor; or at least I thought so then. 
At that age one hardly knows what one rs fit for. 
Pish ! If one knew when one is older, even! In 
the Seminary they were satisfied with me. But 
the Bishop, who had half promised me a chap- 
laincy, afterward refused it to me, and I saw no 
prospect of advancing in the profession.” 

“And what did you do ?” 

“ I determined to study for a normal school 
teacher. As soon as I had finished the course a 
friend took me as assistant in a school he directed. 
The school fluttered and stumbled along for a 
while. Unfortunately it failed shortly afterward. 
And then I was thrown again on the street.” 

“ Hard fate ! ” 

“Then I was drawn as a conscript.” 


i 82 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“ Well, and did you carry the gun ? ” 

“What help was there for it? Unless they 
would be willing to take cuartos painted on the 
wall for my ransom. And I can say boldly that 
my superiors were satisfied with my conduct. I 
did not receive a single reprimand, for I obeyed 
like a machine. Our superiors are our superiors, 
and it is their place to command and ours to obey 
in silence. Well, as I knew more than my com- 
panions, and obeyed like a recruit, I was promoted 
first to the rank of corporal, then to that of 
sergeant. And when my time was out I obtained 
a place as master of a school in Lugo.” 

“ I see that you had a vocation for teaching,” 
observed Moragas. 

“ I did not dislike the profession,” returned 
Rojo ; “ only I was bitterly poor. I had very 
hard times then — then and afterward. The worst 
of all was that I fell in love with a Galician.” 

The words, almost comical in their simplicity, 
were uttered in so singular a tone that Moragas 
did not smile. It seemed to him as if in the 
moral auscultation which he was conducting, 
a special sound that betrayed the true seat 
of the disease had presented itself. “ Here 
is the seat of the trouble,” his medical in- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 183 

stinct, applied now to the pathology of the 
mind, said to him. “ Here you have the key. 
Up to this you did not know what you were deal- 
ing with; the malady appeared to you disguised, 
secret, latent, not amenable to investigation. 
Now you hold the end of the thread. Draw it, 
and you will be able to unwind the ball of this 
soul ! ” 

“You say that you fell in love with a Gali- 
cian,” he observed. “ But what had that to do 
with the matter? You must have fallen in love 
with a great many women ! After all, you were 
young.” 

“ No, Senor, I did not fall in love with many 
women. I always behaved well, and no one could 
ever find anything to censure in my conduct. 
You see, I left the Seminary and — it was the same 
as if I had not left it. The youthful follies and 
vices I saw others indulge in never had any attrac- 
tion for me — ” 

“ But at any rate,” interrupted Moragas, “ this 
time you fell in love in earnest.” 

“ So much so that I got married, Sefior.” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed Moragas expressively. 

“ And, as you know, the situation of a married 
man is very different from that of a bachelor. 


184 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


Until then I had never had any anxiety for the 
morrow ; I lived by the day, and, as far as myself 
alone was concerned, with a cup of broth I had 
all I wanted, and more. But a wife and children 
came, and I saw the world under a different as- 
pect. My school did not give me enough to 
keep the pot boiling. The pupils did not pay. 
I had continual disputes with the Town Council 
as to whether I could claim pay or not, as to 
whether I should receive a monthly stipend or 
not. This was no life, Seftor de Moragas, and I 
can tell you that a thousand times I was utterly 
disheartened. Then I remembered that I was 
very well acquainted with Don Nicolas Maria 
Rivero, who held the pan by the handle. I went 
to Madrid, and I saw him and another magnate of 
this place, who said to me, as I remember, in 
these • very words : ‘ Go back to Lugo. Before 
you are there our guest will have taken himself 
off.’ The guest was King Amadeus ! It was 
true. Before I had reached Nogales, the Repub- 
lic was proclaimed. That gentleman did not 
forget me; he sent me to Orense with an ap- 
pointment.” 

“An appointment? What sort of an appoint- 
ment ? ” 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 185 

“ In the police,” responded Rojo, in a lower 
and duller voice than usual. 

“ The city police ? Green sleeves ? ” 

“ No, Senor. This was another sort of police, 
that existed at that time but that I fancy is per- 
haps not now in existence. As the civil guards 
were concentrated in the towns, owing to the 
riots, the country was given over to the rebels. 
In Orense and Lugo, especially, the villages were 
in so bad a state that a rising was expected from 
day to day. It was my business to search the 
houses of the Carlist priests, and before I went 
out the gentleman I speak of, shutting himself 
up with me in his office, would say to me : ‘ Go, 
Rojo, search, force an entrance, seize, plunder, 
commit atrocities. Show no mercy to those cut- 
throats, for those are the devils, the wild beasts 
who cause all the disturbance ! *' But I— — ” 
“You objected?” asked Moragas, seeking for 
a gleam of hope and light. “ You refused ? ” 

“ Of course I refused, so long as I had not a 
paper, a written order, clear and precise. What 
is ordered by word of mouth is signed in the air. 
They give the order, and the man who executes it, 
when he is most satisfied with what he has done, 
finds himself in trouble and obliged to shoulder 


1 86 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


the responsibility. The law must be written or 
else it is no law. So that I — well, without prais- 
ing myself, I was not intimidated by the Gover- 
nor’s loud words; I squared myself, I stood firm ! 
1 Give me a few words from your own hand, Sefior 
Governor, and then tell me what you want, and 
your orders will be executed. I won’t undertake 
to force an entrance into any house unless I get 
an order to do so. With the order in my hand I 
am ready to face the world! ’ And the Governor 
had no recourse but to hand over the order. 
With that I did terrible things.” 

“You declare that yourself?” responded Mo- 
ragas with severity. 

“ No, Sefior. When I say terrible, it is a man- 
ner of speaking, for I did neither more nor less 
than I was ordered to do. I didn’t go beyond 
orders in anything. As you can understand, it 
was my duty to obey instructions, to execute with 
vigor the orders I received, and to concern myself 
no further about the matter.” 

“ That is what I blame you for,” said Moragas, 
with a stern contraction of the brows, a gesture 
that traced on his mobile forehead thoughtful 
lines. “ Do you suppose that if I were now to 
receive the order: * Commit such or such a crime,' 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 187 

and that I should go and commit it, that I would 
be free from blame ? ” 

Rojo hesitated, unable to find an answer to 
Moragas’ argument. 

“ Well, Sefior,” he said slowly. “ I believe, 
begging your pardon, that in respecting the au- 
thorities and obeying the established laws no one 
commits a fault or does anything wrong. And 
the proof of it is that I was not held in the 
slightest degree responsible for the acts I speak 
of. I was given my orders and I obeyed them, 
and there was an end of my responsibility. There 
were people who said at the time: ‘You'll see, 
you’ll see. Before long this little row will be 
settled, and you’ll have to pay for the broken 
glass.’ But with my paper bearing the Gover- 
nor’s signature, as clear as the stars, in my pocket, 
I laughed at them all. They would have liked 
well to throw me into prison, but I snapped my 
fingers at them.” 

“ And what did you do ? ” asked Moragas, 
more and more interested, “ when that row was 
settled, and you lost your employment of plun- 
dering priests’ houses? Did you take up — your 
present one ? ” 

“ Then,” answered the man gloomily, search- 


i88 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


ing his memory for the next step of the social 
ladder down which he had rolled, “ I became a 
distraining agent.” 

“ Excellent ! ” said Moragas, laughing sarcasti- 
cally. “ A sensible and consistent step ! The 
Revolution persecuted ideas with fire and sword ; 
the Restoration was more practical and organ- 
ized the persecution of the pocket. It assembled 
a pack of bloodhounds — and to the chase ! ” 

“ But, Sefior,” objected Rojo, “ the taxes must 
be collected, and, of their own free will, no one 
would pay anything.” 

“ Not when they are excessive and brutal,” 
responded Moragas angrily ; “not when they are 
so burdensome that they ruin the taxpayer. Let 
us suppose a well-governed state where there is 
prosperity and economy, and you may be sure 
that that state will not need distraining agents. 
In short, the fact is that you ” 

“Senor, I had the little girl then; the boy 
was born afterward. And they had to be sup- 
ported ” 

“ That is a more creditable reason,” answered 
Moragas. 

“ But I would not be a distraining agent if it 
was wrong to be one',” declared Juan Rojo, with 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


189 


a curious ostentation of dignity which almost 
disconcerted Moragas. “ Neither in that nor in 
any other action of my life have I done any 
wrong, for I knew very well what is a crime and 
what is not a crime, and I might lay all my 
actions this very moment before a judge, certain 
that I should have nothing to be ashamed of. 
As to honesty I am beyond temptation. If I 
found millions on the street I should return 
them to their lawful owner ; no one respects 
more than I do what ought to be respected, but 
I had to provide food for my family, and I 
served the state ; just as the delegate of the 
Treasury, for instance, serves it.” 

The argument must have impressed Don Pelayo, 
who was either unable or who did not wish to say 
a word in answer to it just then. Rojo, too, was 
silent, and there reigned in the miserable room 
an embarrassed silence. Suddenly it occurred to 
the doctor to ask a question which produced a 
profound agitation in his interlocutor. 

“ And — you and your wife — did you and she 
agree well together?” 

Rojo trembled suddenly and visibly, and an- 
swered, still trembling and in a scarcely audible 


voice: 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


190 

“Very well. We never had a word of dis- 
pute.” 

“I have touched the quick,” thought Moragas. 
“ Here is the wound ; here are the tissues unaf- 
fected by the putrefaction of the law. Good. 
Here we must cut into the flesh ; here we must 
cauterize.” And aloud he said : 

“And your wife — is she still living?” 

“Yes, Sefior,” the almost inaudible voice la- 
conically responded. 

“And ” Moragas did not venture to say 

more, for he was impressed by Rojo’s agitation at 
the same time that his medical instinct still said to 
him: “ This is the living flesh ; probe it without 
fear.” 

He completed his question by a look around 
the room, that expressed something like the fol- 
lowing: “And if your wife is living how is it 
that she is not at the boy’s bedside, or cleaning 
up this wild beasts’ lair a little?” 

Rojo was silent. A broken sigh burst from 
his breast. Then he slapped his knee two or 
three times and said : 

“What ruined me was to have come from 

Orense to Marineda. If I hadn’t come here 

Here they deceived me. For I was deceived — 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 191 

Seftor de Moragas. Listening to advice — and 
they did it with a good intention, probably. 
They persuaded me ; they said to me, ‘ Don’t be 
a fool; this is a godsend ; a windfall.’ I answered 
them (as true as that you are sitting there on 
that bench): ‘But if I wont knoiv how ? But if 
I’ll have to work the machine ?* And they 
answered me, just as I repeat it to you : ‘You’ll 
never have to operate here. The twenty years 
pass without a cat being executed. And you 
pocket thirty-seven dollars every month for walk- 
ing about the streets with your arms folded.’ 
Thirty-seven dollars! You see it was a thing 
that might tempt anyone.” 

“And — who said that to you?” 

“ Friends ” 

Moragas smiled. 

“And your wife — what did she think?” 

Rojo’s features, at the mention of his wife’s 
name, again contracted. At last, he said, hurriedly 
and as if trying to exculpate himself : 

“ She said by no means — that she had not 
married for that. But at the same time it 
certainly seemed as if the money must be wel- 
come to her; because you see, nursing the child, 
and fond of comfort and of having the house well 


192 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


supplied with everything* and of handsome 
linen ” 

The words issued from his lips with the softness 
of a sigh. One might have thought that Rojo 
was talking with his wife, and arguing with her. 
Moragas began to understand the whole history 
of the man. He saw in imagination the wife, 
delicate, industrious, refined, as far as was com- 
patible with her station, and not in material 
things only, since she shrank from infamy, al- 
though this infamy brought her comfort, fine 
clothes, and ease. 

“ At any rate,” continued Rojo, as if desirous 
of getting away from this part of his story, “ it 
was my destruction, Seftor; God had willed it 
there. I dare say you wouldn’t believe that there 
were at least six or seven candidates for the 
place, who had already sent in their petitions, and 
who were backed by powerful influence of all 
sorts while I had not one to speak for me. To 
say the truth I didn’t myself know what I wished. 
Because they were urging me and pushing me on 
to ask the place, I wrote my petition, saying 
that I had been a sergeant and inclosing my cer- 
tificates, and I sent it in without more ado. 
See what one’s fate is! In a week it was decided 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


193 


in my favor, and those who had so many recom- 
mendations were left out in the cold.” 

“And,” asked Moragas, like one throwing the 
plummet into deep water, “and — had you had in 
the war — or — in any other circumstances — occa- 
sion to — to wound — or kill anyone? ” 

“To wound? To kill?” answered Rojo, with 
an indescribable expression of astonishment and 
protest. “To wound? To kill? In the fifty- 
five years that I have lived I don’t remember 
ever to have hurt anybody with my hands. I 
never went into a regular battle. If my supe- 
riors had commanded me to fire against the 
enemy, I should have fired; what help would 
there be for it ? But the occasion never arose ; I 
had charge of the instruction of the conscripts 
for a whole year, and not one of them can say 
that I ever even gave him as much as a slap.” 

“ Then how did you suppose you would be 
able to reconcile yourself to — the occupation you 
were going to follow ? ” 

“ Don’t I tell you,” replied Rojo, with an air of 
distress, “ that it was something that came of it- 
self? I thought in this way : Let us go on liv- 
ing and drawing the salary; when the occasion 
arises, it will be time enough to think what is 


194 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

best to do. The occasion may never arise, I may 
die before that, and there is no use in worrying 
beforehand. For the present I shall draw my 
little salary ; we will be able to live ; some other 
situation may meantime turn up; and — patience 
and hope. Only that the catastrophe came, as 
always happens in this world, when I least ex- 
pected it, and I found myself bound hand and 
foot — with the obligation before me.” 

“ It seems incredible,” exclaimed Moragas, 

“ that you could resolve to ” 

“And what would you have had me do? I 
could not resist the law. Don’t you know, Don 
Pelayo, that that would have been impossible? 
Oh, it is very easy to talk. Those who com- 
mand, command, and we, who are under them, 
obey.” 

“You might have refused — and I should like 

to see who ” 

“ They would compel me.” 

“How?” 

“ They would send for me to the office of the 

secret police and there ” 

Rojo placed the outer surfaces of his thumbs 
close together, and made a grimace like one suffer- 
ing some agonizing pain. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 195 

Moragas gave a look expressive of astonish- 
ment. 

“The torture!” he exclaimed, horrified, re- 
membering Lucio Febrero’s assertions and com- 
prehending the truth they contained. 

Rojo answered only by an inclination of the 
head, dropping his chin upon his breast. Mora- 
gas clenched his hands and muttered an oath. 
The philanthropist regained his self-control after 
a few seconds and, letting his eyes rest on Rojo 
with an expression half compassionate, half 
ironical, he said : 

“ So that — at last — you were obliged to — 
operate ? And how did you manage ? For you 
did not know how ” 

“ I didnt know how , of course not ! And I was 
afraid — well — that an accident might happen, and 
that the people might get excited and hiss or 
even stone us. But I got well through the diffi- 
culty, for the son of my predecessor in the town 
came to see me and said to me: ‘Don’t worry, 
Rojo. I’ll help you. You’ll get out of the 
matter all right, I give you my word of honor ! 
I’ve never operated myself ; but that doesn’t 
matter. I know how it is done, and I even think 
I have a natural aptness for the business. If I 


196 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

had had the recommendation of having served in 
the army I would have had the place instead of you. 
You have it now, and may you enjoy it for many 
a year to come. But don't be afraid ; we shall 
acquit ourselves with credit. I will go with you 
on the scaffold as your assistant, lest there should 
be any difficulty. I’ll prepare you the instru- 
ments, that have to be as smooth as silk, and 
show you how to use them. It is like drawing 
water out of a well, that’s learned at the first 
attempt.’ And so it was. He did it so well that 
I made him a present of three dollars. With the 
exception of turning the winch — I may say that 
it was the boy who dispatched that one.” 

Moragas controlled himself. If he had fol- 
lowed his first impulse he would have committed 
some act of violence. But underlying his indig- 
nation there was a persistent sentiment of inde- 
finable commiseration. The abject and torpid 
soul of Rojo was his prey. The lay apostle was 
not willing to renounce the romantic work of 
mercy. 

‘‘And how many times did you — operate 
again?” he asked, restraining himself by an 
effort. 


“ Five . 1 


XII. 


A FUNEREAL silence followed Rojo’s answer. 
Moragas was paralyzed. This cipher confounded 
him, as might a sophistical argument. The man 
before him had executed five times the move- 
ment of the arm which sends another man into 
eternity. 

When Don Pelayo had recovered from his 
stupor, he asked incisively : 

“And tell me — the first time, at least, had you 
no prickings of the conscience? Or were you 
perfectly calm ? ” 

“ The first time,” answered the gloomy voice 
of Rojo, “ for a week afterward, or two perhaps, 
I dreamed every night — of him." 

“ Ah ! every night ! You saw him f ” 

“ I saw him ! ” 

Another pause, a still more painful silence. 

“ And afterward ? ” insisted Moragas. 

“Afterward — that is why a man sometimes — — 
Only the one who has gone through certain 
things If it wasn’t that I could hardly sleep, 


197 


198 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

I should never have drunk as much as a glass of 
rum in my life.” 

“You began then to drink rum?” 

Rojo kept silence. The confession he was 
making was torn from him in fragments, bleed- 
ing, bruised, like the intermittent moans extorted 
by a paroxysm of pain ; and Moragas, accus- 
tomed to examine and to treat so many wounds 
of all kinds, comprehended that the deepest, the 
bitterest, the worst of all had not yet come to 
the surface. Moragas could not divine what 
sort of corpse it was that lay at the bottom, but 
he felt that it was there, deep down in the lowest 
depths of human ignominy, shame, and despair. 
His infallible instinct still guided him, saying : 
“Here, here are the innermost fibers of the heart, 
of that heart that beats alike in the breast of the 
judge and the philosopher, the executioner and 
the criminal, the august portion that exists in 
this miserable wretch, the same as in you.” 

“ And,” he asked slowly and significantly, fix- 
ing his eyes on the executioner, whose soul, so 
to speak, cowered under his gaze, “and — your 
wife — what did she say about those bad dreams 
of garroted criminals ? Did not she dream, 
too?” 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


199 


“ Those are things that are of no importance,” 
said Rojo sullenly. “ It’s better not to speak of 
them. Here we have been wasting time in idle 
talk, and now — it would be well to attend to the 
child.” 

“ I’ll catch you yet,” thought Moragas. “ You 
won’t escape me. I know- now where the hurt 
is. The universal fiber! That never fails to 
respond. Love, fatherhood. You would have 
to be made of bronze not to feel when those 
cords are touched. And I think you do feel, 
and keenly. Well, if you wince there, there we 
will attack you. From the particular concept of 
husband and father I may make you pass to the 
general one of man. It will cost me some trou- 
ble to make humanity rise to the surface, but for 
that very reason I will not let you go. Ah, if 
Father Incienso and Father Fervorin only felt 
the redemptorist impulses that I feel ! What 
makes me indignant is the inconsistency that 
those very fathers would be capable of calmly 
absolving the executioner half an hour after 
garroting his fellow-creature, while they would 
refuse him absolution if he took the notion of 
maintaining that mass might or ought to be said 
in Spanish !” 


200 


THE A NG ULAR S TONE. 


Having uttered this somewhat ingenuous and 
unsubstantial aside, the philanthropist again 
looked at Rojo fixedly and searchingly. Two 
images were joined together in his fancy, that 
of the presumptive murderess of Erbeda and 
that of the outcast whom he wished to redeem. 
He beheld the woman strangled by the man at 
the law’s command. “ It will not be,” he 
said to himself^ “ This man will never again 
take away the life of any human being. Mora- 
guitas, either you are a rattlepate or this time 
you have finished with the executioner of 
Marineda.” 

The idea inspired him with singular animation 
and even joy. This, indeed, would be a fine 
achievement, a genuine redemption. To save an 
existence and ennoble a soul ! 

“ Listen,” he said, with irresistible force. “You 
are a man despised by everyone. Are you con- 
vinced of that ? ” 

“ But that is a great injustice.” 

“ It is not. But let us say that it is. Listen 
to me attentively This injustice — does your son 
suffer on account of it, or does he not? Why is 
he lying there on that bed, his body bruised by 
stones ?” 


THE ANGULAR STONE . 


201 


“ Because there are very barbarous people in 
the world ! ” 

“ I see,” exclaimed Moragas, with energy, “that 
you will not come to reason. I see that you wish 
your son to continue in his present social posi- 
tion. Good-night, then ! Look for another 
doctor.” 

Rojo uttered an indistinct groan of mingled 
entreaty and protest, stretching out his hands as 
if to detain Moragas. 

“And,” added the doctor, who, notwithstand- 
ing that he had taken his leave, did not move 
from his chair, “ I was disposed to interest my- 
self in the boy, and to be of service to him in 
solving the problem of his education and his 
future.” 

Rojo did not answer in words, but he repeated 
his former action of throwing himself at the doc- 
tor’s feet. The latter turned away and, rising 
from his chair, as if with the purpose of going 
away : 

“Let us speak plainly,” he said, standing still 
in the middle of the room. “ Let us see if you 
can understand me. I can be useful to your son 
and serve him — greatly. What education are 
you giving him ? None, I wager.” 


202 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“And how am I to blame for that, Senor? 
They turn him away everywhere ! In the private 
schools they don’t want him. In the public 
schools the scarecrow of an alcalde tells me he 
can’t be admitted, because his father has means. 
If he goes to the Institute they will finish stoning 
him to death. I try to put him to learn a trade, 
and the proprietor of the factory takes him one 
day and on the next plants him in the street, 
because the apprentices strike work. Is that 
unjust or not? My son is as good as they 
are ! As likely as not their own fathers are 
thieves ! ” 

“ Let them be so ! ” returned Moragas. 
“ There could be nothing so bad as to be your 
son. And if you don’t acknowledge that now 
you’ll never catch a sight of me again in all your 
life.” 

Rojo uttered a suppressed cry, a cry that was 
almost inaudible, a cry -that had the sound of 
tears. 

“ Well, then, I acknowledge it ; yes, Sefior, I ac- 
knowledge it. The devil will have it so — to be 
my son is the worst thing in the world ! ” 

“ And a son of yours has no other prospect 
than to succeed you in your office.” 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 203 

“ Not that ! I’d strangle him first — with my 
hands— without instruments!” 

As he uttered these words Rojo rushed wildly 
away to dash himself against the board wall of 
the miserable hovel, and hid his face against it. 
Moragas approached him and murmured, almost 
in his ear, with a friendly familiarity inspired by 
his apostolic fervor : 

“ I can save your son and make him a man like 
other men ; I can give him an honest trade, and 
even an education and a fine career, if he should 
be fit for it ! ” 

Rojo turned and, looking the physician full in 
the face, exclaimed : 

“ Then you will gain heaven ; for a deed of 
charity like that ! ” 

“No; I won’t gain heaven, by any means, be- 
cause I won’t do it for nothing.” 

The father remained silent, not divining in 
what coin payment of the good deed was to be ex- 
acted from him. 

“ Are you willing to pay ? ” insisted Moragas. 

Rojo looked at the bed on which Telmo lay, 
and without vacillating responded, with super- 
human firmness : 

“Yes, Senor ; I’ll pay.” 


204 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


The doctor remained silent, as if he wished 
Rojo’s promise to register itself on the air. After 
a few moments he repeated : 

“ Will you pay ?” 

“ I have said I would — and that’s enough ! 
Do you contrive that my son shall cease to be 
abhorred by everybody, and that he shall not find 
himself in the necessity of taking up my occupa- 
tion, and I ” 

“ We shall see,” said Moragas. “ I don’t trust 
you yet. I am afraid,” he added, “ that if I say 
to you, ‘ Do this or that,’ you will answer me that 
the law — and that your obligation ” 

“No, Sefior. Juan Rojo will do what you 
command him. Do you hear? What you com- 
mand him. I am an honest man ; I never did 
harm to anyone, except by superior orders ; but, 
as you have so many enemies — if you want to 
give a fright to somebody ” 

“ Barbarian ! ” responded Moragas. “ I shall 
let that stupid remark pass unnoticed. You shall 
learn presently what I require from you, and if 
you have an atom of moral sense, you will obey 
me, with the full conviction that I am in the 
right. And if you are going to obey me, begin 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 205 

now. Tell me at once why it is that you don’t 
live with your wife?” 

“ But what does that matter to you ? ” groaned 
Rojo. “ I want to hear nothing about her. She 
went away ” 

“With another man?” 

“Well, and what if she did go away with an- 
other man? May God forgive her! I have for- 
given her freely. May God protect her; for all I 
know is that she is the mother of my son — and 
good-by to her! ” 

“ I’ll ask you nothing more, now,” said Mora- 
gas, experiencing an emotion so dramatic that it 
seemed to him ridiculous. “To forgive always, 
that is the true law, not those laws which you 
reverence. I, too, will cause your son to be for- 
given. Good-by; I will come back again. Until 
to-morrow. Do you hear? Until to-morrow!” 


XIII. 


But Moragas was unable to return on the fol- 
lowing morning, because Nen6 was ill. It began 
by a slight catarrhal fever which developed into 
one of those fevers that in a few days exhaust a 
child’s strength, as a current of air hastens the 
combustion of a taper. Nen£’s cheeks lost their 
freshness; a glassy film covered her soft black 
eyes; her little hands grew thin, showing the 
bones under the flaccid skin. The doctor forgot 
everything else ; he shut himself up with the 
child; he consulted no books, for he knew the 
origin of the malady, but he fought with it hand 
to hand, and, by force of tonics and of the most 
exquisite care, Nen£ began at last to show a 
shadow of improvement. And the improvement 
went on increasing, and the longings for dainties 
and toys began. Moragas caught a glimpse of 
the possibility of taking the child to Erbeda, and 
there restoring completely her strength, health, 
and spirits. “Nen£ is saved!” his science told 
him, and hope repeated the assurance. One day 

206 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


207 


he rushed out to buy her a new American toy, 
some enormous mechanical butterflies, that flew 
by themselves; and as he sent them into the air, 
in the convalescent’s chamber, and heard her 
laugh, as the big painted butterflies fluttered 
against the wall, he remembered, for the first 
time, with a feeling of vague remorse, the son of 
Juan Rojo. 

Like all impressionable people, Moragas was 
apt to fall from the height of enthusiasm to the 
depths of despondency. In the executioner’s 
hovel it had seemed to him an easy undertaking 
to rehabilitate the boy, taking him from the at- 
mosphere of ignorance where he vegetated. He 
was then disposed to conquer prejudices and an- 
tipathies ; to force open the doors of schools and 
factories; to go bail for him, and accomplish in a 
single day the salvation of Rojo and of Telmo. 
Rojo would kill no more; Telmo would become 
a workman or a student. And now, a month 
later, he thought the plan impracticable and ab- 
surd. He experienced the inertia of the will, the 
ice that impedes action, and all he saw were the 
difficulties and the dangerous and semi-grotesque 
side of his proposed undertaking. “Are there 
not other boys in the world to be protected? 


208 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


But I must fix upon this one, precisely this one. 
Moraguitas, where in Marineda would you put 
the son of the executioner? Everyone will make 
a wry face the moment you mention him.” 

These fluctuations ended in his putting off the 
matter, so as to gain time. He made the excuse 
to himself that no one can undertake anything 
during the summer and that the summer was 
now close at hand. “ In the summer months 
everything is at a standstill. Everyone is in 
vacation. The people go away to the country. 
I, too, would like to take a little trip. What a 
color Nen£ will get in Erbeda! And to com- 
mence the redemptorist campaign — the beginning 
of the winter is better.” The sight of Telmo, 
cured of his bruises, contributed to cool the ardent 
resolution of Moragas. The boy running about 
the Calle del Faro, well and sound, seemed to 
him less an object of compassion than before. 
Moragas even felt, with a parent’s selfish affec- 
tion for his child, a species of hostility toward 
Telmo, seeing him robust and strong, more active, 
more audacious, and more warlike than ever, and 
two inches taller at the very least. “ I only wish 
Nen6 had the health of that ragamuffin ! ” But 
Moragas was of too generous a nature to harbor 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 209 

these thoughts; an almost instantaneous revul- 
sion of feeling took place and he experienced a 
peculiar sensation, which might almost be char- 
acterized as anguish. He felt as if a bar of cold, 
hard metal transpierced his body and weighed 
down his soul. “ One is more tranquil not to see 
the ideal, even a hundred leagues away, than to 
see it and not be able to attain it,” thought the 
physician. Whenever the recollection of Juan 
Rojo crossed his mind, Don Pelayo felt the im- 
pression of humiliating powerlessness which the 
debtor feels at sight of his creditor — the creditor 
who waits in silence, without asking his debtor 
for what is due him. The state of mind of Don 
Pelayo can be understood by those who, without 
being just, perfect, or holy, may be called sensible 
and unselfish. The holy man does not suffer; 
he fulfills his duty fearlessly; his will is 
whole. The good man fulfills or does not 
fulfill but his wounded piety always continues 
to bleed. 

What most contributed to prevent Moragas 
from forgetting Rojo was the perpetual discus- 
sion of the crime of Erbeda. Neither in the 
country nor the city was anything else talked 
about. As had been predicted by Priego, the 


210 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


crime had attracted great attention, even from 
the press of Madrid, which devoted to it long 
telegrams and articles, some of them copied from 
the Marinedan papers. The trial was looked for- 
ward to as an event ; it was known that Paco 
Rumores, a native of Marineda, who had obtained 
a position as a reporter on the newspaper having 
the largest circulation of any paper in Spain, 
would be present at it ; that Don Carmelo Nozales 
was preparing a brilliant speech, the prelude to 
his transference to the court of the capital; and 
that, notwithstanding his reluctance and his un- 
willingness to exhibit himself in Marineda as a 
lawyer, Lucio Febrero had been obliged to un- 
dertake the defense of the murderess. 

Moragas resolved to attend the trial on the 
day when the sentence was to be passed. But 
at the last moment he was prevented from doing 
so by the daughter of the Marchioness of Ve- 
niales, who was the wife of an engineer, and who 
was now for the first time about to become a 
mother. The case was a serious one, and Mo- 
ragas was unable to leave the patient’s bedside. 
At the same hour in which the child entered 
the world, the jury and the court sentenced a 
woman and a man to leave it — the murderers 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


211 


of Erbeda, sentenced to the shameful garrote — 
“ as was to be expected,” Cdfiamo said. 

The press was unanimous on that evening, 
and on the following morning, in praising to the 
skies the speech of Nozales and in expressing 
dissatisfaction and astonishment at the defense 
made by Febrero. Faithful to the classic models 
of forensic oratory, Grotius and Puffendorf had 
pronounced a species of invocation to the furies 
of criminal law, embroidering his oration with vin- 
dictive apostrophes. The smattering of learning 
possessed by Nozales stood him in good stead on 
the occasion, and the charge of Batilo against the 
two murderers of Castillo served his turn well, 
nor did anyone notice the resemblance in ideas 
and phrases between the two discourses, a resem- 
blance which might appear to be due to the 
resemblance between the crimes. Like Melendez 
Valdez in 1821, Nozales dilated on the licentious- 
ness and corruptness of the times, the fatal dissolu- 
tion of the bonds of society, the immorality that 
has taken root and propagates itself on all sides 
with the rapidity of the plague, the neglect of every 
duty, and noticed, as a characteristic of the epoch, 
the contempt in which the marriage tie is held ; he 
spoke of the consternation of the country at so 


212 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


horrid a crime, punished by the severest penalties 
from the remotest antiquity down to the present 
times ; he cited a law of the Fuero Juzgo and 
another of the division of Los Oniecillos , in the Par- 
tidas , and ended with an apostrophe to the jury and 
the court, delivered with tremendous energy and 
full of dramatic power, which terminated more or 
less like that of Batilo ; “ Let the thunderbolt of 
the law fall upon their guilty heads. Let them pay 
with their lives for the innocent life they have cut 
off. Make them an example — an example that 
will terrify evil-doers and enable virtue to steep in 
peace ! ” The audience, who had hung upon the 
words of Nozales, listened also with eager atten- 
tion to Lucio Febrero; only that, before the 
young lawyer had reached the middle of his 
peroration, their attention began to flag, and at 
its close, acknowledging that “ all that might be 
very scientific,” they were unanimously of opinion 
that it was strange and suspicious, and even fatal 
to society, from whose hands he tore the before- 
mentioned avenging thunderbolt that Nozales, 
with a dramatic gesture, had pictured as about 
to fall on the devoted heads of the criminals. 
Besides, was it not an evident sophism, a want of 
professional loyalty, to seek to demonstrate that 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


213 


the murderess, in giving herself up to her lover, 
and afterward in plotting with him the murder 
of her husband, did not obey the impulse of pas- 
sion but an impulse of profound fear ; one of those 
impulses that confuse and obfuscate the reason, 
the fear that her lover would stab her, and after- 
ward the fear that her husband, carrying out 
threats as often repeated and as horrible as they 
were seriously intended, would strangle her some 
night in the silence of their bedroom? To what 
end support so singular an argument by quoting 
medical works that show the blindness and the 
moral confusion which fear produces in the hu- 
man soul, and especially in the feminine soul, 
where education and habit both tend to develop 
this sentiment? Why did not Febrero quote 
works on criminal jurisprudence? Why did 
he not accept the natural and common ver- 
sion of the jade who, to indulge her passion, 
takes a lover, and in order to enjoy at her ease 
the society of her lover, plots the murder of 
her husband? No, it was plain that these law- 
yers of the present day would seize with their 
naked hands a bar of red-hot iron if by so 
doing they could prove the criminal irresponsi- 
ble. You should have heard Cafiamo talking in 


214 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


the lobbies of the court of Marineda. “I tell 
you that at this rate society will fall to pieces ! 
That is to take away the corner stone, the founda- 
tion of the whole edifice ! Tranquillity was 
restored on learning the verdict of the jury — a 
guarantee that society was not yet going to fall 
to ruin, for very soon it would be propped up 
by a double scaffold ! 

Two or three days after the passing of the 
sentence, Lucio Febrero entered the office of 
Moragas and held out a feverish hand to the 
doctor. 

“ Do you know,” he said, throwing himself on 
the divan, “ that I have a fever every after- 
noon ? ” 

Moragas felt his pulse. Yes, there was an 
elevation of temperature, but a very slight 
one. 

“ It may be a touch of malaria,” he said, 
“ but I imagine that what you have is called 
rage.” 

Lucio did not at once answer ; he was hesitat- 
ing whether to be silent or to speak frankly. At 
last, rising to his feet, he exclaimed, with the 
expansion of one who lays bare his soul: 

“ I am going to leave Marineda. I shall go to 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 215 

hunt in the mountains for the rest of the sum- 
mer, and perhaps save myself in that way from 
an attack of hepatitis. Happy you who do not 
repress yourselves, who give vent to your anger, 
as to your enthusiasm ! You say there is a slight 
fever? Well, I thought I had forty degrees and 
several tenths.” 

Moragas laughed and, laying both hands affec- 
tionately on the lawyer’s shoulder, said : 

“ How much you have taken it to heart ! I 
had not thought so. It is true that the case has 
made a noise, and that Nozales put all the meat 
into the frying-pan.” 

“ All the meat, yes, the putrid meat — meat a 
century old. But his hearers’ intelligence was 
precisely of the same date as the arguments of 
Nozales. He spoke to them in the language 
they understood.” 

“ And you in Chinese,” answered Moragas. 
“ That theory of committing crime though fear 
might be very plausible in the Assises of Paris. 

As for this place You were too clever, Sefior 

Don Lucio.” 

“ I was too sincere ! ” exclaimed the youthful 
advocate. “ Sometimes the truth is incredible ; 
I had forgotten this, I wished to make it shine in 


2l6 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


all its splendor, and I succeeded only in obscuring 
it still further. Nozales was wise. There is a 
sort of religious picture, representing the good 
man and the bad man, for the use of the courts, 
which is applied to all criminals indiscrimi- 
nately ; it is a classic mask, like those plaster-of- 
Paris allegorical figures representing the virtues, 
or the seasons. Men differ so greatly from one 
another! Each soul is a world! But Nozales 
and the magistrates — the devil take them ! ” 

“ Come, come, you see no one is made of 
bronze;” said Moragas. “You have taken an 
interest in your client. What is there strange in 
that?” 

“No, Moragas, that is not it,” responded 
Febrero, making an effort to speak without im- 
petuosity or anger. “ She herself possesses 
scarcely any interest for me, and the lover is 
antipathetic to me. My interest is purely ideo- 
logical. They interest me — as a conception. I 
see that she is going to die, not for being a crimi- 
nal but for being a coward. Her crime is horri- 
ble, loathsome. It was attended with circum- 
stances that make the hair stand on end ; that is 
all true, but if we look into it, she ought not to 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


217 


“ Do you think any woman ought to die by the 
garrote ? ” asked Moragas hotly. 

“ You know already what are my views on that 
subject. I am not an abolitionist. But women, 
since the law regards them as minors in an in- 
finity of cases, and they are denied political 
rights, should meet from criminal law with the 
protection and the leniency accorded to the 
minor. But go tell that to the gentlemen of the 
other side. The murderess of Erbeda, for in- 
stance, would not have committed the crime she 
did if she had not been brought up under the 
regime of masculine terror. She has told me her 
story. As a child her father beat her to make 
her tread furze. As a girl, the young men in the 
pilgrimages invited her to dance with a pinch or 
a stroke of a switch — rustic gallantry ! As a 
married woman her husband did not beat her 
often (for that reason Nozales, parodying Mel£n- 
des Valdes, said that he was a man of amiable 
disposition); but one day when he came home 
drunker than usual, he wanted to put her into 
the oven and light the fire under it. Then comes 
the lover and one day, through threats and blows, 
he conquers her ; the husband catches them al- 
most in flagrante delicto , and pretends to have 


2l8 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


seen nothing, doubtless through fear of the Cy- 
renaeus*; but as soon as the latter turns his back 
he seizes his wife by the wrists, drags her in front 
of the oven, after a while releases her, and by 
words and by looks, by intuition, she comprehends 
that his resolution is taken ; that her husband has 
determined to kill her the moment a favorable op- 
portunity presents itself. In that way he kills her 
slowly by fear. Every night when she goes to 
bed he says to her: ‘ When you least expect it, 
you will waken up in eternity.’ And the woman 
gives up sleep so that she may not be taken by 
surprise, that she may be able to defend herself, 
to cry out. Can you understand the psychic state 
induced by many months’ loss of sleep? Natur- 
ally she confides her fears to the lover, who be- 
comes alarmed on his own account, also, and, as a 
matter of course, the idea of the crime suggests 
itself. There you have its genesis — fear! ” 

“ Well, no one has accepted that view of it,” 
returned Moragas. “ According to the general 
opinion the husband was killed because he was 
in the way.” 

* Anyone who helps another in any labor or employment. An 
allusion to Simon Cyrnereus, who helped Jesus to carry the cross on 
the way to Calvary. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


219 


“ Let it be so,” responded Febrero, sighing. 
“ What difference does it make ? I am going 
away to hunt, to fish, to rusticate, anything. I 
shall neither hear nor see Nozales nor Don Celso 
Palmares, who, after going about saying that he 
would die without signing a death-warrant, has 
signed this one. I shall rid myself of the ridic- 
ulous spectacle of the fickleness of the multi- 
tude. I shall not see the men who to-day cried 
out, ‘Public vengeance!’ telegraph to deputies 
and senators to obtain that other absurdity 
which they call pardon.” 

“ Should you be sorry if your client were 
pardoned? ” 

“ I know that she will not be pardoned — the 
wind indicates severity. But pardon irritates 
me. Let them either not condemn, or not par- 
don merely through caprice. Ministerial clem- 
ency (it is not even royal) is on a par with 
historical justice. Well, good-by, Sefior Don 
Pelayo, unless you would like to accompany me 
to the prison. I am going to say good-by to 
that wretched woman and cheer her up by telling 
her a thousand falsehoods. Will you come and 
help me to lie ? Yes? I am so glad!” 


XIV. 


The doctor had not yet fully made up his 
mind. He was in one of those moods when the 
heart demands repose rather than conflict. Of 
how frail a fabric is the thread of human destiny ! 
How trivial may be the psychic impulse which 
shall perhaps decide regarding the life or death 
of a human being. 

Moragas looked out of the window and ob- 
served that the sun was shining brightly; it was 
a glorious J une day, not too warm, and for this 
reason and because of the sympathy with which 
Lucio inspired him, he said to himself, “ If it must 
be so,” put on his gray overcoat and went down- 
stairs very willingly. 

The prison of Marineda stands at the lower 
extremity of the Barrio de Arriba; on one side 
it looks toward the sea, on the other — that on 
which its principal entrance is situated — toward 
a small sloping square paved with flags between 
which the grass grows. The aspect of the square 
is such as would delight the artist and disgust the 


22<J 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


221 


advocate of municipal reforms. To the right the 
Gothic mansion of a nobleman; to the left the 
high .wall of the court; in the foreground lanes 
and streets, and in the distance the blue bay. 
Built in the latter part of the last century the 
prison of Marineda preserves some lugubrious 
memorials of our political disturbances; the dun- 
geon is shown from which several Liberals passed 
to the scaffold and certain Royalists to a vessel 
which they were to man, and which foundered in 
the middle of the bay, sending to the bottom its 
fettered crew. 

“Do you know,” said Moragas, pausing before 
passing through the door, “that the prison pre- 
sents a depressing and gloomy aspect even before 
setting foot in it? Those triple bars, covered 
with rust, look like cobwebs woven by coercion 
and tedium.” 

“And yet this is one of the best in Spain. 
What prisons there are in other places! In some 
of them the prisoners live with their feet im- 
mersed in water — or in something worse. Re- 
member the subject of our conversation some 
time ago on the Espolon ; the idea that it is per- 
missible to torture the prisoner has not by any 
means died out yet. This prison,” added Lucio, 


222 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


pausing and taking the doctor familiarly by the 
lapel of his coat, “is a marvel of construction, in 
the opinion of those learned in architecture. 
They will tell you inside — if you have the 
patience to listen — that if the jailer chances to 
drop the keys of the building on the floor of his 
room the noise can be heard in the furthest cell, 
and that the jailor, on his side, does not lose in 
his room a sound of what passes in the cells of 
the prisoners. In spite of these acoustic marvels 
bottle after bottle of brandy passes in through 
the lower gratings, and on the last day on which 
I came here to see my client, a prisoner was hav- 
ing a couple of wounds dressed which he had 
received in a quarrel after a carouse. What a 
world, this penal world ! And to say that here, 
instead of in worm-eaten folios, are the laws of 
the future, the laws which we are creating ! Enter 
and you will see sad enough sights, although 
here no one complains or sheds tears ; those who 
enter this dwelling, become stoics from the mo- 
ment they cross its threshold.” 

They went in and an attentive official — accus- 
tomed to the visits of Lucio Febrero, who went 
about the prison with as much freedom as if it 
were his own house — placed himself at their 


THE ANGULAR STONE . 223 

orders. Moragas, unfamiliar with the place, 
looked sadly at the walls covered with the grime 
of years, grime that seemed the exudation of 
crime; he deciphered the inscriptions traced by 
the smoke upon them, and, as a physician, he 
endured the indefinable smell, a mingling of the 
odors emanating from unsavory food and un- 
washed human bodies which filled the passages 
and even the yards. Although the two friends 
had intended to go straight to the department of 
the women, situated in the upper story, Febrero 
drew Moragas toward the principal yard, where 
the men were taking recreation. The prisoners 
who, on principle, feign indifference to every- 
thing that comes from outside, neither changed 
their attitude nor interrupted their occupations. 
The greater number of them, it is to be said, 
were doing nothing, given up to the detestable 
idleness of prison life, walking in groups about 
the narrow yard, chatting or humming an air, 
and furtively casting cold or hostile glances 
at Febrero. Moragas felt those treacherous 
glances strike his face like stabs. One of the 
prisoners, in particular, inspired him with so 
sudden a repulsion that he would have liked- to 
go up to him to reprimand and insult him. 


224 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“There’s a rascal!” he whispered to Febrero, 
nudging him with his elbow. The rascal mer- 
ited, in fact, some attention, although his was 
not a type peculiar to Marineda, but a variety 
common, perhaps, in all the penal establishments 
of the universe. He was the Adonis of the 
prison ; the man who in Paris is called pale voyon ; 
in Madrid chulapo, but who in Cantabria has no 
distinctive name, being an exotic — a beardless 
youth of pale complexion, with a certain sym- 
metry of form, which instead of attracting 
repelled, as an immodest picture repels. Pie 
wore a soiled shirt which left exposed the throat 
and the upper part of the breast; cream-colored 
trousers, belted like a public dancer’s, and close- 
fitting new boots of a pale corn color. His head 
was bare, and his hair was flattened upon the 
temples in a shining curl. He walked with an 
insolent swagger, and passed, with a defiant ges- 
ture, close by Moragas and Febrero, as if saying: 
“Look at me, here is a man who is not afraid of 
you.” The warden, who accompanied the two 
friends, nudged Febrero and, leaning toward 
Moragas, whispered, with a wink : 

“That man is supported and clothed and pro- 
vided with everything by a ” 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


225 


But Moragas’ attention was attracted by an- 
other spectacle; in the opposite corner of the 
yard he had just caught sight of two boys who 
might be, the one nine, and the other eleven 
years old, at the most. 

“Look there!” he exclaimed, turning to Fe- 
brero, “I didn’t suppose there were kids here 
too!” 

The boys, huddled on the ground, rose at the 
voice of the warden, who said to them imperi- 
ously, “Come here.” They obeyed; the elder 
haughty and serious; the younger smiling, cyn- 
ical, showing in his face that roguish expression 
which, accompanying innocence, has something 
celestial, but which, withered by vice, oppresses 
the heart. “Tell me, why is this pair of children 
here?” exclaimed the doctor, slipping some small 
silver coins into their hands. Febrero was about 
to explain but the warden anticipated him : “The 
youngest is the boy that climbed up a chimney 
to open the door for the thieves when they 
entered San Efren to steal the chalices and jew- 
els. The other, who looks about eleven, but 
who, in reality, is over twelve, is the boy who 
killed an orderly, in the Campo de Belona, by a 
stab in the groin.” 


226 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


Moragas looked fixedly at the precocious hom- 
icide. 

“Can this be true?” he asked, with more pity 
than anger. “You are no higher than my cane, 
and you have already killed a man?” 

While he spoke he looked at the boy with 
some curiosity, remarking that he seemed to be a 
native of the Philippine Islands ; his face was of 
an earthy color, expressionless, and with high 
cheek bones, his eyes were oblique, his lips pale. 

“Why did you do that?” repeated Moragas 
with insistence. 

“Because the orderly beat my brother,” an- 
swered the boy, in the hoarse voice of childhood 
passing into adolescence. 

Febrero here diverted the attention of Moragas, 
pointing to the door of a low cell at which a man 
was standing. 

“There is the accomplice in the crime of 
Erbeda — the man under sentence of death !” he 
said. 

The doctor turned round quickly, but Lucio, 
laying his hand upon his arm, stopped him. 

“Let us not attract his attention. That man 
detests me ever since I defended his sister-in- 
law, for he thinks that I tried to throw all the 


THE ANGULAR STONE. ' 227 

guilt upon him. If I speak to him he looks 
down and does not answer — but you can see him 
very well from here.” 

“What a sinister face!” exclaimed Moragas. 

The assassin, who leaned against the jamb of 
the door, was looking toward the yard and the 
light fell full upon his face. His features and 
his appearance were indeed characteristic. Mo- 
ragas observed his depressed head with its dark 
shock of hair, like the wig of a stage-villain ; his 
furtive glare, his sinister 'pallor, his ill-propor- 
tioned face, more fully developed on the right 
side than on the left, his large knobby hands, his 
prominent and brutal-looking jaw. Under the 
blouse and trousers a robust form could be 
divined, and the canvas shoes outlined the large 
flat feet common to the peasantry. His position, 
as he leaned against the door, was somewhat 
strained, owing to the fetters which prevented 
him from crossing his legs. 

“There is no deceit there,” murmured Mora- 
gas. “What a brute! There is a protagonist for 
a passional crime /” 

“And you will see that you are not mistaken,” 
answered Febrero. “If people were observers, 
only to look at his face would make them laugh 


228 


THE AKGULAR STONE. 


at the pathetic apostrophes of Nozales and all 
that talk about criminal passion and guilty love. 
That man inspire passion? Absurd! He is a 
savage of the prehistoric ages ; he is the bear of 
the caves. Let us go upstairs and observe the 
contrast between the Romeo and the Juliet, who 
can gaze at him from above if she so desires. 
But she will not gaze at him. If the unfortunate 
woman could have any alleviation to her misery 
it would be to find herself freed from such a 
brute. And, mind you, when he is questioned, 
he swears in a whining voice that she instigated 
him to the deed, that she was his ruin.” 

While Febrero was speaking they were mount- 
ing the damp and steep stairs, and, leaving 
behind the deserted stoves in which the fires had 
gone out, with their blackerued and dirty hearths, 
they proceeded to the department of the female 
prisoners. In the passage could be heard the 
dismal and prolonged howling of a madwoman, 
confined by herself in a cell until her transfer to 
the madhouse could be conveniently effected. 
When they entered the quarters of the women 
the doctor could have fancied himself in a hell 
with an outlook into Paradise. 

The walls were grimy and discolored ; the ceil- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 229 

mg was low and black, the floor worm-eaten; 
the space too limited for the flock of prisoners 
who stood crowded together, leaning for sup- 
port against the miserable bedsteads, on which 
only a thin mattress badly filled with poma or 
corn husks invited to sleep, the atmosphere 
mephitic, and the dusty grating that confined it 
triple. But through the grating, so near as 
almost to send streamers of turquoise through it, 
could be seen the blue bay, broad, majestic, 
sparkling in the sunlight, covered with graceful 
punts, hucksters’ boats and heavy lighters, lorded 
over by a magnificent transatlantic steamer, the 
Puno , that — its boilers still quivering, the gray 
trail of smoke from its tall and slender smoke- 
stack still faintly visible in the air — had just cast 
anchor; and on whose deck the passengers 
swarmed, waiting for the longboat of the health- 
officers, to throw themselves into the skiffs that 
danced upon the waves. Indifferent, kind, with- 
out intending to be so — like nature herself — the 
bay sent to the prisoners the perpetual succor of 
salubrious and vivifying air that, mocking the 
bars, entered the room in aromatic gusts. 

The warden informed Moragas that, with the 
exception of the murderess, none of the women 


230 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

confined here had committed any but trivial 
offenses — some petty theft, some trifling misde- 
meanor that did not prevent many of them from 
still boasting of being honest women. Neverthe- 
less, with the mysterious comradeship which 
reigns in prison, they all treated the woman 
under sentence of death with cordiality. 

Warned by a nudge from Febrero, Moragas 
descried her seated in a corner, dressed in the 
deepest mourning. “The woman,” said the law- 
yer, with his eyes rather than with his lips, and 
the physician went straight toward her. The 
prisoner had already risen through respect for 
her counsel and was bidding him good-day, and 
when Moragas heard for the first time her thin 
and timid voice he experienced the same sharp 
and intense sensation of pity which he had felt 
on seeing her walking along the highroad be- 
tween the civil guards. Perhaps the sensation 
was intenser, keener, because he saw that the 
criminal was meager and stooped, as if her shoul- 
ders supported, not in a figurative sense, but in 
reality, the terrible weight of the law. Owing to 
her slight stature and her extreme thinness she 
looked like a boy disguised in female apparel. 
Under her black shawl, crossed over her breast, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


231 


notwithstanding the heat, the lines of a woman’s 
form were not distinguishable, and the dotted 
calico handkerchief, falling over her forehead, 
framed in shadow a delicate, sunken, waxen-hued 
face. Moragas observed those small features, 
those eyes reddened by sleeplessness and that 
contracted mouth, that presented none of the 
characteristics signs of sensuality. 

“Well, how are you? How are you getting 
on?” asked the advocate, approaching the crim- 
inal, in a tone that he desired to be frank and 
jovial. 

‘‘So-so,” answered the woman sorrowfully. 

“They have changed your quarters, eh? You 
are more comfortable here,” observed Febrero. 

(The room was neither better nor worse than 
the other one.) 

“Psh — Yes, Senor, I am well everywhere,” 
said the prisoner, in a submissive voice, empha- 
sizing slightly the word well. 

“And — in spirits? Remember, I won’t allow 
you to be despondent,” added Febrero, in the 
tone of a physician who is ordering a patient an 
emetic or some other disagreeable medicine. 

“In spirits, very bad, Senor,” responded the 
condemned woman, fixing her large, dark eyes 


232 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

with a hard expression on the lawyer. “I have 
such dreams! Last night I dreamed that I was 
already on the scaffold.” 

“A pretty simpleton!” exclaimed Febrero, 
with a forced laugh. “If you dream such non- 
.sense again I have already told you a hun- 

dred times that the Supreme Court will annul 
the sentence; and even if it does not do so, it 
makes no difference, because we will petition for 
a pardon. And anyway, silly woman ! we have 
the whole summer before us. In vacation the 
courts do not sit. You know very well that 
until autumn, at least, nothing can happen .” 

The prisoner did not answer. She lowered her 
eyes and a slight shudder agitated her slender 
frame. 

“Look,” added her counsel; “in order that you 
may see that I never forget you, I have brought 
you Doctor Moragas, a very respectable and very 
influential person. He can do a great deal for 
you — if — the case should arrive. You shall see 
how, among us all ” 

Moragas drew nearer the prisoner, looking at 
her with that piercing and animating expression 
which he knew so well how to wear at the bed- 
side of the patient whose life is despaired of. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


233 


The woman raised her eyes and the physician, 
reaching out his hand, took that of the criminal 
and pressed the ball of his thumb on her wrist to 
feel the pulse. The skin was cold and moist ; 
the pulse feeble, almost imperceptible. 

“Courage,” said Moragas, in his turn, but in a 
tone altogether different from Febrero’s, a tone 
that expressed faith, ardor, and persuasive sym- 
pathy. ' “Courage. Return thanks to God that 
this is a good day for you. What do you think? 
Do I look as if I would lie or deceive? Well, I 
affirm that you will not go to the scaffold.” 

Through the wrist that Moragas pressed 
rushed a living and rapid current of warm blood ; 
the pulse quickened, and the skin acquired a soft 
temperature. The woman fixed her eyes, humid 
and brilliant, on Moragas and exclaimed : 

“You look as if you would speak the truth.” 

“Then have courage and hope, and dream no 
more about the scaffold.” 

“Won’t they kill me?” 

“No, no, no !” 

Don Pelayo was scarcely conscious of the 
exact meaning of his words ; it was not his rea- 
son that spoke but his will, something that 
brought to his lips imprudent phrases of consola- 


234 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


tion and hope. How could he prevent this 
woman from dying on the scaffold? How? 
‘‘But she shall not die. Moraguitas, this game 
you must win. Shame upon you if you do not 
win it !” 

When the physician and the lawyer had left 
the prison behind them, and were eagerly inhaling 
the sea air, Febrero paused and said to the doctor 
in a thoughtful tone: 

“I am persuaded that the common people can 
be played upon like an instrument, and that we 
could do them a great deal of good, not by 
enlightening their reason, but by utilizing their 
credulity. You have left my client as I have 
never done; just like a glove. That woman has 
a peculiarity common, as you know, to all crimi- 
nals — a deficiency of vascular reaction — and insen- 
sibility. I have never once seen her blush ; I 
have never surprised her shedding a tear. Well, 
when you spoke to her to-day, she blushed and 
her eyes grew moist. You have done good; you 
have released her from the worst part of her pun- 
ishment, which is the idea and the fear of it. 
Die — we must all die; and who knows but that 
we ourselves may die before she does. The only 
advantage we have over her is in not knowing 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 235 

the exact hour. How many consumptives are 
you attending who will die with the fall of the 
first leaf? The cruelty is not to kill but to tor- / 
ture to death slowly by fear; the law, in this 
case, taking its inspiration from the judgment of 
Caftamo, premeditates assassination and carries it 
into effect with cumulative cruelty; every day 
that passes adds a new torture — insomnia, fright- 
ful dreams from which she awakens trembling, 
the last hours, when she begins to count the time 
by seconds. This woman committed murder, it 
is true, but the dead man passed, almost without 
suffering, from sleep to eternity, and the law, in 
reprisal, keeps her half a year with the garrote 
before her eyes. Be sure that that woman has 
already expiated her crime by the mental 
anguish she has endured in all these days. Well, 
you have given her some relief. There are 
beneficent lies.” 

Moragas did not answer at once. He took out 
a match from a silver match-box to light a ciga- 
rette. He settled his glasses on his nose, 
smoothed the lapels of his coat, and suddenly giv- 
ing Febrero an expressive push, he said slowly: 

“And what would you say if they were not 
lies? Come, what would you say?” 


236 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


Febrero smiled with indulgent incredulity, and 
seizing the doctor’s arm, responded slowly : 

“Don’t imagine that I am not aware of how 
the wind blows in exalted regions. Although 
you should enlist the sympathies of half the 
Congress and half the Senate and of Lagartijo 
and the Nuncio into the bargain, it is all lost 
time. That pair will go to the scaffold ; and I 
shall take myself off in order not to see it or hear 
of it, or read a newspaper or open a letter for four 
months.” 

“I am neither a deputy nor a senator, nor a 
bull-fighter, nor a pontiff,” said Moragas, stand- 
ing still and sending a puff of smoke toward the 

sea, “but Enough said. I know what I 

mean.” 

“What?” said Febrero humorously, “are you 
going to scale the prison, or to blow it up? 
Think no more about the matter, Doctor. Be- 
lieve me, one life more or less is of little conse- 
quence. The one thing of importance, the one 
thing that ought to be defended with all one’s 
might, is the idea. When an idea succumbs, 
then it is that it behooves us to toll the death 
bells, to weep, and to put on mourning. As for 
the rest — pish !” 


XV. 


It was an afternoon toward the close of sum- 
mer, or we might rather say, at the beginning of 
autumn, although it is to be observed that in 
Cantabria the autumn season surpasses the sum- 
mer in serenity, beauty, and splendor. The 
fields, already reaped, presented the melancholy 
aspect of the stubble-covered ground cracked by 
the drought ; but, in exchange, the foliage of cer- 
tain idle plants, that can afford to indulge in the 
luxury of not dying until winter, was more luxu- 
riant and more flourishing than ever, and the 
walls of the villas looking out on the highroad 
were crowned with a wealth of roses, virgin-vine, 
clematis, and bignonia. The little garden of Dr. 
Moragas, too, displayed its fairest ornaments. 
There was a magnolia, that, owing to its youth, 
had not sent forth a single blossom during the 
year, but the recent gusts of heat had doubtless 
stimulated its virgin buds, and an amphora, white 
as snow, still closed, but already beginning to 
betray itself by its subtle fragrance, gleamed 


237 


238 THE ANGULAR STONE . 

among its glossy leaves. Nene, who had been 
watching the flower for some days past, glided 
gently, with hesitating step, to the arbor where 
her father was reading a newspaper, and reading 
so intently that he neither heard the child’s 
approaching footsteps nor noticed her repeated 
calls to him, in her childish, silvery tones. The 
words which held the attention of Moragas 
enchained were those of a paragraph conceived 
in the following terms, plus minusve : “The 
Supreme Court has rejected the appeal to annul 
the sentence in the celebrated murder case of 
Erbeda, with the particulars of which o*ur readers 
are already fully acquainted. It is thought that 
the press, and the various associations of Mari- 
neda, will set on foot energetic proceedings for 
obtaining a pardon, in order to spare the cultured 
capital of Cantabria a day of gloom and mourning.” 

“Papa-a-a!” screamed the child, now begin- 
ning to grow angry and impatient. “Papa-a-a! 
Is 00 deaf?” 

“No, my precious. I am not deaf,” responded 
her father, laughing involuntarily. “Let us 
hear; what is it? Won’t you let me read?” 

“Fower egg open. Div it to me. Want 
fower, fower, fower!” 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


239 


“Very well! You shall pluck it for yourself 
from the branch.” 

The doctor lifted up the child and the latter 
grasped the beautiful half-open magnolia bud, 
crushing it, for her little fingers could not break it 
off. At last the father and daughter, between 
them, separated the coveted treasure from the tree, 
and Nene, the moment she succeeded in getting it 
into her possession, ran away as fast as the weak- 
ness left by her illness would allow her, in the 
direction of the house. Nene had her plans 
with respect to the use she was going to make of 
the first magnolia of the garden. 

The instant the doctor found himself free from 
his tyrant he took up the newspaper with fever- 
ish hand and read the parargaph again, as if he 
had not fully understood it, clear and explicit as 
it was. He took his chin in his hand and 
frowned, as if he were revolving some perplexing 
question in his mind ; presently he rose and, 
greatly agitated, began to walk up and down the 
one little avenue of the garden. The sunlight 
played upon the grass plots, gilding them and 
giving everything a peaceful and smiling aspect. 
Moragas talked to himself, uttering frequent ex- 
clamations ; gesticulating, because for him reflec- 


240 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


tion was action, movement, and an inward surge, 
impossible to repress. “Now the struggle is going 
to begin for you, Moraguitas. Come, my son, 
now it is that you will need to push home your 
arguments. A fine defeat you are going to suf- 
fer! Waterloo was nothing to it. You have 
promised to interpose yourself between that 
woman and the garrote. You might as well 
have offered the unhappy woman the moon ! 
They will garrote her — and you will keep your 
patience. These are not the days of the Cheva- 
lier of Maison Rouge, who by incredible and 
romantic devices liberated captive damsels from 
their dungeons.” While these thoughts were 
passing through his mind, in the secret recesses 
of his consciousness and his will he cherished a 
different feeling, a singular feeling of hope, which 
had the impetus and the energy of a presenti- 
ment, or rather of a calculation of probabilities 
based on secret data whose value he alone could 
estimate. Mechanically he leaned back in the 
vine-covered arbor and began to pull off the with- 
ered crimson vine leaves, that crackled between 
his fingers. 

The garden of Moragas was so small that one 
could hear in it every sound from the road, and 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


241 


Moragas, in the midst of his preoccupation, had 
been conscious for some time past of the mur- 
mur of childish voices in conversation. With 
whom was Nene talking? One of those little 
beggars who lie in wait in the ditch for passing 
carriages? No, for if that were the case, she 
would have already come to her father to ask 
a mite to bestow in charity. And the chatter 
went on and grew more animated, interrupted 
from time to time by bursts of laughter and joy- 
ful exclamations. With whom? Moragas finally 
emerged from his abstraction, moved by the 
spring of curiosity. He ascended the garden 
stairs, passed through the dining room, and went 
to the door of the little parlor. He stood half- 
paralyzed, as if he had seen the famous classic 
face of the Gorgon, although in truth he saw 
only the curly, graceful, bold head of Telmo 
Rojo, so close to the blond head of Nen£ as 
almost to touch it. 

The two children were playing at a game 
which consisted in building, with stones and 
pebbles, which they took from a heap left by the 
road-makers to mend the road, nothing less than 
a regular fortification. Nene had no idea of 
what a fortification was, and she had begun by 


242 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


confounding it with another public edifice, ex- 
claiming: “House papa Heaven!” (That is to 
say, in her language, church .) But Telmo, con- 
stant to his unlucky warlike proclivities, took the 
pains to explain at length to the child the capital 
differences that exist between a church and a 
fortification, and the special purpose for which 
the latter is designed. “See, here there are 
neither priests nor saints, nor a Virgin of Sor- 
rows. This house is full of soldiers, who go with 
their guns, don’t you know? pum, pum, pum ! 
and then they play the cornet, tarara, tarara. 
And then the officer gives his orders, Right 
about, face, arr! Then come the cannons — they 
are put here, they’re to blow the enemy to pieces 
— boom ! boom ! Every discharge kills a hun- 
dred, or a thousand, or a great, great many more. 
If you could see how pretty it is! And the gen- 
eral comes galloping, clatter, clatter, with his 
staff, clatter, clatter, clatter, and the fort is in the 
middle of the sea — like San Anton, don’t you 
know? — and every vessel that enters the bay gives 
it a salute.” 

Nene, wild with delight, clapped her hands and 
laughed aloud at every word of Telmo’s. Un- 
doubtedly she did not comprehend the profun- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


243 


dity of the teachings of her new friend, but she 
did comprehend their sonorousness, the spirit 
and pomp of all that clatter! and boom ! With 
her velvety eyes fixed on the boy’s face, with her 
mouth half-open, with her hands quivering with 
delight, and her feet dancing, Nen£ listened to 
the lecture on military architecture and took up 
as many of the pebbles as she could hold in her 
hands, wishing to contribute to the speedy ter- 
mination of the fort. 

The doctor, having recovered from his first 
surprise, took two steps forward, with the inten- 
tion of seizing the boy by the arm and dashing 
him against the heap of stones. For the son of 
Juan Rojo must be, indeed, audacious and shame- 
less to fraternize with the daughter of Moragas; 
innocent little angel, tenderly guarded, a bud 
that would one day be the white rose of the 
social garden, the mysterious sanctuary' which is 
called a marriageable young lady ! Nene playing 
with the son of Rojo, with that scum of society, 
branded on the forehead, as with a hot iron, with 
the shameful scars of a stoning! Nene and 
Telmo together! the child gay as she had not 
been for a long time- past, animated, her cheeks 
rosy, her arms open to embrace, her face 


244 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


stretched out to receive the kiss of the only child 
who could be kissed ! 

Moragas felt his former anger revive, the anger 
that had impelled him to throw the two dollars 
out of the window, that had prompted him to 
leave Rojo’s hovel without dressing the wounds of 
Telmo, and that now tempted him to dash the boy 
to pieces, awakening in his soul instincts of de- 
struction so savage that perhaps their very vio- 
lence consumed them instantaneously, as the 
impetuous flame consumes the brand that springs 
from its bosom. During the space of five seconds 
the doctor was capable, in intention, of committing 
a crime, and the very fury of this blind and san- 
guinary impulse brought about an equally sud- 
den and violent reaction. “Are you the man 
who desires to redeem, to perform miracles, to 
save one human being from the scaffold and 
another from degradation? Have you not en- 
gaged your word that this boy shall have a career 
and a future, and be received by society without 
having his origin cast in his face? A good be- 
ginning you are making in your work of mercy, to 
think of kicking him to death or dashing him to 
pieces against the stones like a venomous reptile ! 
You propose to rehabilitate the boy. Begin by 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 245 

not closing your door to him and denying him 
the kiss of peace of your daughter.” 

While he thought, or rather felt thus, the feel- 
ing clothing itself for him with sudden light and 
beauty, Moragas approached the door, and Telmo 
caught sight of him. The stones dropped from 
the boy’s hands ; his right hand sought his cap 
and pulled it off with respectful haste; he turned 
square around, and the physician, grave and reso- 
lute, as if he were entering a hospital ward full 
of plague-stricken patients, stretched out his 
hand, placed it on the boy’s curly head, and said : 

“I am glad to see you, Telmo. Come in, 
come in, and we’ll give you some lunch.” 

The doctor’s good action was repaid on the 
instant by seeing depicted on his protege’s coun- 
tenance a vivid expression of happiness and grat- 
itude, which transformed it. Moragas was then 
able to observe the natural expression of Tel- 
mo’s face — that species of ingenuous vanity, of 
presumption, comical in one of his age, but 
almost tragic by force of the contrast which it 
offered to the habitual situation of the boy, 
shunned and humiliated as he was. Those who 
accept humiliation without protest acquire either 
an expression of sublime resignation — which is 


246 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

rare — or one of sinister and vindictive baseness — 
and this last is the most common. Telmo was 
equally distant from both extremes ; he saw that 
he was the victim of an injustice which he 
neither comprehended nor was willing to bear. 
He knew instinctively the worth of his own soul; 
he knew himself to be capable of great achieve- 
ments, and he wondered more and more every 
day that, instead of treating him like a dog, they 
had not placed him at the head of the garrison of 
Marineda, or given him the command of one of 
those beautiful ships of the squadron, the Villa 
de Madrid, or the ironclad that was being built 
in the dockyard. 

Leaving Nene and the stones he ascended the 
two little stairs, entered the parlor and, ap- 
proaching the physician, said with an unembar- 
rassed air, although not without deep inward 
emotion : 

“My father sent me here. He says that you 
promised him that I should enter a school, and 
that by and by you would look for a situation for 
me, and that they will give me work anywhere, 
and that I am to learn a good trade. But I ” 

“You don’t want to work,” said Moragas, who 
was already smiling, leaning back in the rocking- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 247 

chair in which he was sitting and examining the 
boy with more attention. 

“Yes, Sefior, but ” 

“But what? Come, tell me.” 

“If I am to be anything,” exclaimed the boy 
resolutely, “I want to be a soldier.” 

“One of these days you’ll be drawn as a sol- 
dier.” 

“No, a soldier for life — an officer, I mean.” 

“Oh, that’s a trifle! And why do you want to 
be a soldier, little tatterdemalion?” asked the 
doctor, with a mixture of kindness and serious- 
ness. 

“To have soldiers under my command, and to 
win a great many battles, and to carry a sword, 
and to run anyone through the body who insults 
me.” 

Moragas remained silent, reflecting; and in- 
stead of being provoked at such aspirations, he 
thought them laudable and appropriate. In this 
being who aspired to rehabilitation with all the 
energies of his soul, the desire to be a soldier was 
especially suitable and might be regarded as a 
true vocation. Although Moragas did not yet 
even know whether such a thing would be feasi- 
ble or not, he already saw the boy in fancy with 


248 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

his stars, his galloons, his helmet, and his sword 
at his side. 

“You shall go to the school and to the Insti- 
tute, ’’ he declared warmly. “And after that — 
God will dispose. Listen to me well. You are 
to carry this message to your father: I will take 
you to live in my house, with me.” 

“With you, here?” 

The impression was so profound, so confusing, 
that under the bronzed skin tanned by the open 
air could be perceived a sudden pallor. Telmo 
was beside himself with joy. It was a selfish, 
overpowering, intense joy that almost resembled 
pain. The proposition of Moragas took the 
form, in the boy’s soul, not only of liberty, of 
redemption from insult, but of a magic transla- 
tion from the dismal and grimy hovel to the 
oasis of a garden of magnolia flowers, like that 
which Nen6 carried in her hand, and where they 
would play forever, forever, at building fortifica- 
tions. What unlooked-for, what intoxicating 
happiness! To be out of sight of the Barrio del 
Faro, to get away from the cemetery, to leave 
the hut — and this Telmo did not define, for if 
he had defined it his good heart would have 
instantly rejected it, but there within it was true 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 249 

— not to live with his father, not to breathe the 
accursed air that stifled him ! 

“Don’t you want to come here?” asked Mora- 
gas, experiencing on his side, also, an interior 
satisfaction that had a very different source from 
Telmo’s. 

“Don’t I want?” stammered the boy, “I? Do 
you mean that I am to stay here to-night?” 

“To-night? You are not in a hurry, are you?” 
answered the doctor smilingly. “It can’t be 
to-night, monkey; for we require your father’s 
permission. All in good time. See, I am think- 
ing that it will be better for you to say nothing 
to him. Don’t be alarmed ; I will tell him my- 
self. Take him this message: That he is not to 
be uneasy about you, and that one of these days, 
as I have some visits to make in the neighbor- 
hood, I will go to see him, and that he is to 
expect me. See, Nene, throw away those stones 
and that earth, you little torment ; you are get- 
ting yourself all in a mess. So, now, Nen6 is 
clean. Do you want this boy to take lunch with 
us now?” 

The child smiled angelically, stretched out her 
muddy hand as if to seize hold of Telmo, and 
with her head, even more emphatically than 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


^ 5 ° 

with her slender silvery voice, she said three 
times : 

“Want, want, want.” 

Then, reflectively, as if solving a serious prob- 
lem, she added what we here reproduce, accom- 
panied by its translation : 

“Won’t dive him peserve. (We won’t give him 
preserve, because it’s all for me, and more if 
there could be more.) Won’t dive him tate. 
(Neither do I wish that he should come here to 
eat all my cake.) Dive him fled egg. (We will 
give him a fried egg.) Is. (This; the before- 
mentioned magnolia flower, 'in the condition 
which the reader can imagine.) 


XVI. 


The news given by the Madrid journal has 
been confirmed in every particular. The appeal 
for an annulment of the sentence being rejected, 
the criminals of Erbeda are to be placed in the 
chapel of the condemned. 

To-day, just as it was five months ago, Mari- 
neda is in a ferment, and in houses, in casinos, 
in cafes, at fountains and in taverns — which are 
the cafes and casinos of the people — nothing is 
talked of but a woman and a man. But how 
changed is the tone in which the names of the 
pair are uttered ! How different the epithets 
now used to qualify them! How rapidly the 
weathercock of public opinion has turned ! How 
irreconcilable the sentiments expressed then with 
those expressed now ! 

It is in the newspaper offices that the excite- 
ment is greatest. Telegrams come and go, wear- 
ing threadbare the before-mentioned formula : 
“To spare a cultured city a day of gloom.” The 
first telegram is sent by the liberal press, who 
251 


252 the angular stone . 

choose as intercessor the famous Cantabrian 
Saint , the great jurist and erewhile omnipotent 
politician, protector of all the people of his prov- 
ince who go about hunting for windfalls and 
situations. And the Saint has already answered, 
cordially and affectionately, lamenting that he 
cannot do now what he might have done when 
Sagasta was in power, and saying that, in any 
case, he is ready to do what is possible — or im- 
possible — to please his fellow-countrymen. And 
the Marinedans, on learning his answer, grumble 
discontentedly, saying that if it were Compostela, 
the dear little Saint would be able to manage it 
without any difficulty. For its part the conserv- 
ative press has recourse to Don Angel Reyes, 
one of the chiefs of the party, and a rival of the 

Saint. “ Let us see if, through rivalry ” But 

the telegram of Reyes, frank and decisive like his 
character, comes to throw cold water over the 
hopes of the press : “ Will take steps, but distrust 
entirely result.” Such was the laconic answer of 
the man for whom the armchair of Minister of 
Grace and Justice was being made soft. 

This does not discourage the petitioners, how- 
ever; only that their imaginations, abandoning 
the paths of reasonable probability, seek novel, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


253 


romantic, and unusual paths. The Cardinal Arch- 
bishop of Compostela is interested in the ques- 
tion, so that he may send a telegram to the Vicar 
of Christ, and that his Holiness, in moving words, 
may transmit the petition to the Regent. An 
eloquent exhortation is wired to the Marquis of 
Torre-Cores, a celebrated poet, born in Marineda 
and residing in the Spanish capital, in order that 
he may perform miracles with lyre and voice, 
supplicating mercy in every quarter for the un- 
happy criminals. And, doubtless in order to 
encourage Torre-Cores by his example, the local 
opportunist poet, Ciriaco de la Luna, becomes 
inspired, and publishes, in three different news- 
papers, no fewer than three lengthy compositions 
— an Ode to Clemency, a Description of the Last 
Moments of a Condemned Criminal, with a 
motto from Victor Hugo, and a Prayer to the 
Queen Mother, with a motto from Antonio Ar- 
nao. The ice is broken, lachrymose articles follow 
one another in the Marinedan papers ; but already 
there floats in the air the conviction that for the 
criminals of Erbeda no generous heart will soften, 
that they will mount the scaffold when their hour 
comes, and that this hour is nearer than the au- 
thorities will confess — that it is already at hand. 


254 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“Too many pardons have been granted in these 
two years,” says Nozales, the attorney-general, in 
confidence. “ In this, as in everything else, a cer- 
tain loosening and tightening of the reins is neces- 
sary, and now comes the tightening .” 

Dr. Moragas had a visit to make early in the 
afternoon to a patient ill of the jaundice, the 
Magistrate Don Celso Palmares — the same who 
had declared that he would end his professional 
career without signing a death-warrant, and who, 
notwithstanding, had signed that of the murderers 
of Erbeda. Moragas sprang into his landau, that 
stood waiting for him, and ordered the coachman 
to drive to the telegraph office. At the door 
of the office he alighted and, dismissing the coach- 
man, quickly ascended the stairs and threaded 
his way through the dark and dirty passages 
strewn with cigar-ends. Moragas had been com- 
missioned by Palmares to telegraph for the 
magistrate’s brother, who resided in Cordova, for 
Palmares felt that he was really ill and longed to 
have someone dear to him at his bedside. And 
Moragas was in haste to fulfill the commission, 
in order to attend to matters of supreme impor- 
tance in the Barrio de Belona. 

Before the desk stood a man, with his back 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


2 55 


turned toward him, who was just handing the 
telegraph operator a message — “a very urgent 
message'’ — which Moragas heard as the telegraph- 
operator read it aloud. “Under-Secretary Grace 
Justice. In the name of mercy beg interest 
Minister Reina pardon criminals Erbeda spare 
day of gloom most worthy capital.” The 
employee had some difficulty in deciphering the 
signature. “Is it Arturo Cdndamo?” “No, 
Canamo, Canamo,” replied the sender of the tele- 
gram with an air of displeasure mingled with im- 
patience at seeing that they were not familiar here 
with his name, and, as he turned round, Moragas 
saw that the charitable petitioner for the pardon 
was no other than Siete Patibulos. 

“I suppose you are asking the same thing?” 
he exclaimed, familiarly saluting the doctor. 
“That message you have in your hand is for some 
magnate in Madrid, I suppose?” 

“ Nothing of the sort,” declared Moragas. “ I 
don’t ask for pardons, nor do I ask for heads, 
either. But you— what a miracle ! You, the 
defender of capital punishment ! ” 

“ And what has that to do with it ? ” asked 
Cdftamo with astonishment. “I demand justice, 
but at the same time I acknowledge the claims 


256 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


of mercy. Should I not admire the spectacle of 
the monarch exercising the most beautiful and 
sublime prerogative of the crown ? But you 
positivists and materialists are hard-hearted, 
have no compassion, and desire to despoil the 
chief of the state of the precious privilege of 
turning, by a word, the scale of justice to the side 
of mercy. Ah, not even when the chief of the 
state is a woman, does it touch you to see her 
suspend, by a gesture, the fall of the fatal knife ? 
There you have the fruits of soulless science. 
Two pesetas , you say,” he added, with a change 
of tone, addressing the telegraph operator. “ Let 
me see; are there more than fifteen words? 
Yes, yes; very well. I am going for the stamps.” 

Moragas sent his message meanwhile and a 
srrrfle played upon his lips, as the image presented 
itself to his mind, clearly and distinctly, of Lucio 
Febrero, who, at this hour, was climbing moun- 
tains and crossing streams, in pursuit of some 
covey of partridges, in the brakes of Mourante, 
and forgetting, in quaffing the Lethean draught 
which nature and solitude present to the lips, 
that there are in the world criminals, execu- 
tioners, a press which petitions for pardons, or 
ministers who advise or do not advise them. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


257 


“Where science ends feeling begins, and in the 
domain of the sentiments the absurd is what is 
real,” thought the doctor, as, enveloped in his 
cloak, he walked up the steep and rugged accliv- 
ity which, while waiting for a magnificent future 
road, is at present the only means of access to 
the Barrio de Belona. And a wild, unbounded 
hope, a delightful sensation of pride, in which 
his spirit floated, as in blue ether, impelled him 
to turn and gaze, from the hill on which he stood, 
at Marineda stretching below his feet. Never 
had he felt so strongly as in this decisive and 
supreme moment the striking resemblance that 
the beautiful city bore to a woman’s form : the 
slender waist girdled by a well-turned corset, 
below which spread the folds of the ample and 
rustling skirts. The two arms of the sea, the 
Bay and the Varadero, which defined on either 
side the slender form of the city, seemed two 
shells full of emeralds ; the white houses, with 
the thousands of windows of their fagades, flash- 
ing back the rays of the setting sun, simulated 
a serpentine border of spangles, glittering in the 
red flame of a torch, adorning that beautiful form. 

“ I will spare you the spectacle, Marineda,” 
said the doctor gallantly, as if he were making a 


•25 s 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


promise to a woman. “ On the day of the crime 
you desired the death of the criminals and to- 
day you desire their life. I will give it to you.” 
And he hurried away as if he were only twenty. 

In front of one of those sheds or sentry-boxes, 
painted with red ocher, that huddle in the 
shadow of the barracks and which, from a little 
distance, look like a string of coral adorning the 
sinister Campillo de la Horca,* a crowd of people 
surrounded what was doubtless a human body, 
the only object over which the populace bend 
with such mute and pitying curiosity. Some- 
one in the crowd recognized Moragas, although 
he was muffled in his cloak and walked with a 
quiet and noiseless step ; and the cries of, 
“ Come here, come here, Don Pelayo,” caused 
the physician to stop, although very reluctantly, 
for he was anxious to get away unobserved. He 
advanced and, making his way through the 
crowd, he saw, on the ground, supported in the 
arms of two charitable women, a girl, poorly 
clad, ugly, wasted and feeble-looking, with a face 
bluish rather than pale, eyes closed and sunken, 
half-open mouth, and pinched nose, who was 
breathing with difficulty, or rather gasping. 
Moragas, at the first instant, recognized the 
* Gallows Field. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


259 


death-rattle. “ Only an accident, Sefior de Mora- 
gas ! ” said a patrolman, who was passing by, 
officiously approaching Don Pelayo. “ It is 
Orosia, the daughter of the drunkard Antiojos, a 
cobbler who works in that shed there ; or rather, 
the one that worked was the girl ; the father 
does nothing but fill himself with drink. Yester- 
day morning the girl vomited blood and ” 
[here the patrolman winked] “ it must have been 
from some misdirected blow that the brute of a 
father gave her in the stomach with the last, 
‘as he was in the habit of cToing. And they say 
that the neighbors heard her complaining this 
morning because her father wanted to force her 
to work when the poor thing couldn’t do it to 
save her soul ; we found her just now in this 
condition. What are we to do with her? ” 

“ Get a chair or a mattress to carry her to her 
house,” returned Don Pelayo. 

“To her house ! ” responded a neighbor, with a 
sigh. ‘ Ah, Sefior! To mine she will have to 
come, for her own is locked ; the mother, who is 
a cigar-maker, carries the key in her pocket, for 
she is afraid that the miserable drunkard will set 
fire to it and burn up everything. But let them 
bring my mattress, for we have only one, and 


26 o 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


we’ll lay her on it. Do you, Cdndido, go notify 
the parish priest — and God grant that he may be 
in time ! ” 

“ He will not be in time,” said Moragas, who 
was feeling the dying girl’s pulse. “But send for 
him at any rate. And let us see if we can’t carry 
her The mattress ! ” 

They had already brought it and Orosia was 
laid on it, without having recovered conscious- 
ness, in that death-swoon which is the prelude of 
resurrection to a less horrible and cruel life. Her 
dress, which the good women had loosened in 
their efforts to assist her, torn in places, disclosed 
the mortified flesh, and on the poor, emaciated, 
livid body, bruises and traces still fresh of cruel 
and brutal usage. The women wiped their eyes 
with the corners of their cotton handkerchiefs, 
and some of the men swore and gave vent to 
muttered threats. The mattress was lifted by 
the four corners, and the procession started to- 
ward the dwelling of its compassionate owner. 

But on arriving there it was seen that Don 
Pelayo had not been mistaken in his opinion. 
Orosia needed no human help, and as for spiritual, 
if God had not pardoned her — God would not be 
what he is, pre-eminently and supremely. 


XVII. 


As night was falling Moragas once more entered 
the house of Juan Rojo. He now put his foot, 
without any feeling of shrinking, inside the sin- 
ister den, which on this occasion looked doubly 
so. The lamp burned dimly; the beds were un- 
made and in disorder, and no one was to be seen 
in the room, until Rojo came hastily from a dark 
corner to offer him a chair, stammering, in his 
joy at seeing the doctor: 

“ I thought you were never coming again, Don 
Pelayo.” 

“ I am not in the habit of breaking my word,” 
said Moragas, seating himself and motioning 
Telmo’s father with an imperious gesture to the 
other chair, the only remaining one in the room. 

“ Yes, Sefior ; I know that ; but — as you didn’t 
come — I took the liberty — you will excuse me — 
of sending the boy to your house. And he 
brought me word — that you — would settle about 
him by and by. You can see very well, Don 
Pelayo, that the thing is urgent. The boy is 

261 


262 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


losing the best years of his life, the years he 
might employ in making himself a man. He 
must be put either to school or in a workshop, 
or wherever you say. Time flies, the day least 
expected I may die, and he must be settled before 
then that it may not occur to him ” 

“ I know what must not occur to him,” inter- 
rupted Moragas. “Say no more. We need not 
enter into further explanations. We have dis- 
cussed the whole matter already. I made you 
a promise ; don’t you remember it ? I have come 
to fulfill it. With the aid of my credit, my posi- 
tion, my money, all that I am and have, I will 
make of your son a worthy man, who shall be re- 
ceived by society, and from whom no one shall 
have the right to turn away his face.” 

“ Can that be ?” asked Juan Rojo, trembling at 
the thought of so much happiness, as if an elec- 
tric current had passed through him. 

“ It can be.” 

Rojo seemed beside himself with joy, and 
Moragas, sterner and more serious than ever, 
added : 

“But not for nothing. You know that I exact 
in exchange ” 

“All that you wish! All!” exclaimed Juan, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 263 

raising his arms and clasping his hands, as if call- 
ing Heaven to bear witness to his words : 

“All ? We shall see that presently.” 

Moragas drew himself together, as the wrestler 
throws back his elbows to collect his strength ; 
he settled his gold-rimmed glasses on his nose, 
rubbed his hands together, and said slowly, 
measuring his words : 

“ In twelve hours’ time, that is to say, to-mor- 
row morning, the criminals of Erbeda will be put 
in the chapel of the condemned. On the next 
morning, at seven precisely, they are to be 
garroted. The pardon which has been applied 
for will not come. The Government does not 
wish the Queen to exercise her prerogative. In a 
day and a half, then, you are to take the lives of 
two fellow-creatures. Life for life. I demand 
their lives in exchange for the life which, morally, 
I shall give your son.” 

Rojo remained motionless, his mouth open, a 
look of semi-idiocy on his face. Disconnected 
words issued from his lips. 

“ I — Don — if — I don’t know ” 

“ The lives of those two criminals ! ” insisted 
Moragas. 

“ I — but how do you suppose I ” 


264 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


“ You, and you alone, can now save them,” 
continued the philanthropist, with superhuman 
energy, hypnotizing Rojo with his steely glance. 
“You and you only. Where the societies, the 
authorities, the Cardinal Archbishop, the deputies, 
and the Pope have failed, you are going to suc- 
ceed, and by merely saying no. When you are 
called upon to exercise your functions — you will 
refuse. Let them remonstrate. ‘No!’ Let them 
command, let them try to compel you ! ‘ No, no ! ’ 

Let them demand an explanation of your con- 
duct. ‘ No ! ’ Let them carry you before the 
chief of police, let them tighten the thumb- 
screws — Suffer, if it must be so, but ‘ no, no, no, a 
thousand times no ! ’ It will not come to this ; I 
shall be on the watch ; I will see that they do not 
do you the least injury — on the faith of Mora- 
gas ! Sleep tranquil, and make your mind easy ! 
for not a hair of your head will be touched. As 
your refusal will be given on the very morning 
appointed for the execution they will of neces- 
sity have to suspend it, and then you will publish 
in the papers a communication, which I will draw 
up, saying that you did not wish to exercise your 
functions, for your conscience tells you that it is 
in no case lawful to kill a fellow-creature. And I 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 265 

will take charge of the rest, and trust me the 
criminals will not die by the garrote.” 

Juan Rojo remained silent, as if the world had 
fallen in ruins around him — the world of his 
beliefs, his ideas, his notions of social order. 

“ But, Seftor,” he murmured, “but, Sefior — I — 
well*, you must let me say one thing to you — and 
it is that — the law — the criminals ” 

“ Be silent ! ” responded Moragas, in a voice of 
thunder. “ Who are you to talk about criminals 
and the law ? Who ? The law ! There lies now 
in your neighborhood, stretched on a mattress, 
the corpse of a murdered girl, the daughter of 
Antiojos, the shoemaker — you know her? Her 
father murdered her by dint of ill-usage, persistent 
cruelty, blows. Not a day of imprisonment will 
it cost the ruffian. Or do you suppose that all 
crimes have their end in the twist you give the 
tourniquet? Let us not waste words, for I have 
no time to lose or to spend in discussions with 
you. Does the bargain suit you or not ? The 
redemption of your son for the life of those 
criminals ! ” 

“ Don’t get angry, for God’s sake, Seftor de 
Moragas. I — I will do what you command! It 
is settled ! There is no more to be said. And 


266 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


look for work for me too, for I shall find myself 
without. bread. Enough; what is said is said. 
Cost what it may — I will do what you — I say 
that I will do it, Don Pelayo ! ” 

“Very well,” responded the doctor, rising, as 
if he did not wish to give the man’s, resolution 
time to cool. “Your son will be redeemed — and 
you into the bargain. All the past infamy will 
be washed out by this action. Telmo, from this 
day forth, is in my charge. Let him get his things 
together, and let him come to me when he 
pleases ; to-day, a room will be made ready for 
him in my house.” 

Moragas said this walking toward the door, and 
consequently with his back to Juan Rojo. As 
he put his hand upon the latch and opened his 
mouth to say good-by a hoarse sound caused him 
to look round — a species of roar, like that of the 
waves dashing themselves to foam between the 
imprisoning walls of some narrow strait. He 
turned back hastily. It was Telmo's father who 
roared or groaned thus : 

“ Se — Sen — Don Pelayo, no — let us understand 
each other — the boy — That ” 

And suddenly acquiring, on the impulse of his 
grief, ready and even eloquent speech, he broke 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 267 

out, placing himself before Moragas, in a resolute 
and aggressive attitude : 

“ No; that is what neither you nor any other 
living creature will ever see. Take away my boy, 
take him away from me, his father, his father, his 
father! Remove him from my side, as if I had 
the cholera, or as if I was a murderer! For I am 
not that ; no Sefior, but an honest man who has 
always respected what ought to be respected ; and 
I can walk abroad with my head high, a great deal 
higher than many of those who despise me! I 
don’t contaminate my son and I won’t part from 
him, I won’t ! He is my son, I have^only him, 
and I have nothing but him in this dirty world! ” 

Moragas glanced at Rojo with a glance of ice 
— of ice that burned, ice that took off the skin 
like the stroke of a whip ; almost without transi- 
tion he passed, by a revulsion of feeling, from 
this contemptuous contemplation to an expres- 
sion of the deepest pity, and, addressing Rojo in 
the familiar manner which he always adopted 
when he desired most to influence his mind, said : 

“ But do you not see, unhappy man, that the 
first condition of the good I purpose to do your 
son is precisely to change the atmosphere he 
breathes? At your side — can you not compre- 


268 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


hend it ? — he will always be the son of the execu- 
tioner ! a being who will be regarded with scorn 
and contempt even by those who, by force of en- 
treaties, may allow him to fill the meanest and 
worst paid situation. You may be a man without 
fault, a being full of perfections, but your son — 
see what an injustice! — even those who clean the 
sewers would not associate with him ! The ques- 
tion is not merely that Telmo should find instruc- 
tion and work; he must also find honor, which is 
what we most stand in need of ! Ah ! if it were 
not for honor ” 

Moragas stopped, searching his mind for an 
unanswerable argument. Juan remained motion- 
less, without uttering a word, although the diffi- 
culty of his always difficult breathing was more 
perceptible than usual. Every now and then he 
moved his head from left to right, as if crying, 
“ no, no.” And the doctor, practiced in probing 
wounds, used the lancet fearlessly, sure of touch- 
ing the right spot. 

“ It is necessary,” he said, dwelling on every 
word, “that you should give up your son now in 
order that he may not have to follow, when he is 
twenty, the example of his mother, and leave you 
alone with your infamy! ” 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


269 


The cut had been well directed, and it pene- 
trated to the marrow of the bones. Rojo 
trembled, and something that resembled a half- 
formed sigh ending in a groan of anguish died 
away in his throat, to which he raised both hands, 
as if to untie the knot of his cravat, which, in 
reality, did not press on it either much or little. 
This instinctive movement recalled that other 
movement which the doctor had prohibited him 
to execute. He thought of the criminals. If 
they were aware that they were to be placed in 
the chapel of the condemned, would they too feel 
this horrible constriction of the throat, this sen- 
sation as if the saliva were being converted into 
red-hot pins? 

“Your wife,” continued Moragas, with the im- 
passibility of a surgeon, “left you because she 
could not endure to be called the executioner' s 
zvife. She preferred to go to perdition, and there 
are those who applaud her choice, if you will be- 
lieve me. The boy, when he grows up and is 
able to distinguish colors, will not be resigned 
either to the dark blot of being your son. He 
will not know where to run to get far enough 
away from you. Ah ! did you suppose that you 
could take for a trade to twist necks, and that 


270 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


this could be compatible with love, the home, 
the family, and the joys of fatherhood ? The 
greater fool you ! It is less ignominious to be the 
son of one of those criminals whom they deliver 
up to you to strangle than to be your son. The 
children of criminals are not stoned. They kill 
only one fellow-creature, and you would kill a 
hundred, if you were ordered to do so, for thirty- 
seven dollars a month. Let your son go now, if 
you don’t want him to run away from you later 
on. I wager he is crazy at this moment to get 
off away from you ! ” added the philanthropist, 
turning the steel in the wound. 

Rojo uttered a cry of protest. 

41 No, Seftor. That, if you will excuse me, is 
what is called talking for talk’s sake. My boy is 
contented with me. I treat him well; I even in- 
dulge him as far as is in my power. I have never 
raised my hand to him in my life. A fancy of his 
is gratified before one of mine. Either the boy is 
a damned rascal — or he cannot help but love me ! ” 
Thus the father ended with a groan. 

“Yes?” said Moragas, with a shade of irony, 
winking his eyes and cleaning his glasses. “ Now 
we shall see. Listen, I think your boy is coming 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


271 


Telmo’s footsteps approached the door; his 
hand had already raised the latch, but, observing 
that there was a visitor in the room, the boy 
paused hesitatingly, undecided whether to enter 
or not. Moragas called to him, and Telmo, on 
recognizing the doctor’s voice, entered, joyful 
and impetuous. 

“ Hello, my fine fellow ! Where do you come 
from at this hour ? ” asked the doctor, to open 
the way. 

“ From La Marinera’s,” answered the urchin. 
“ Her eyes are in a terrible state ; for that reason 
she couldn’t come here to-day. One of the chil- 
dren complains of his head. The house is like a 
hospital.” 

“And you staid to take care of them?” ques- 
tioned the doctor. “ I fancy you are a gadder, 
that you spend most of your time away from 
home.” 

Telmo shrugged his shoulders and the doctor 
continued artfully : 

“ Evidently, you are not here in your element. 
You should stay more with papa. It doesn’t look 
well for you to wander about the streets all 
day.” 

“ For all the good I am here ! ” exclaimed 


272 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


Telmo. “The other boys go to the Institute. 
One must go somewhere.” 

As he said this the boy look questioningly at the 
doctor, as if asking him if he remembered the 
promise he had made him. 

“ Precisely in order that you might go to the 
Institute, or anywhere else, I have been con- 
ferring with your papa. He has agreed to my 
giving you the means of studying, and following 
a career, a military career, the one you have such 
a fancy for. Only he is afraid that your compan- 
ions may play some mean trick upon you, like 
that of the castle of San Wintila. Do you be- 
lieve they will do it ? What do you think? ” 

Talmo looked at his father and then at the 
physician, reflected, felt his instinct become cer- 
tainty, and, like one who makes up his mind to 
take a bold plunge, he exclaimed impetuously : 

“ When I’m under your protection they won’t 
play any trick upon me. If they play any trick 
on me then — they do it at their own risk." 

“ Do you wish to put yourself under my pro- 
tection ? ” 

“ Caramba ! ” 

Into this answer the boy put all the ardor of 
his spirit, all his soul, childish still, but already 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


273 


enlightened by humiliation, adversity, and per- 
petual suffering. It was the aspiration of the 
captive asking to be freed from his bonds; it was 
the savage cry of human selfishness which longs 
for happiness. Rojo did not move. He was a 
living image of stupefaction — culminating ex- 
pression of grief. But suddenly from his rude 
and hard countenance emotion burst forth like 
a torrent. His eyes rolled, showing the whites ; 
his lips tightened, his nostrils dilated, and with 
the impetus of animal ferocity developed in his 
soul by his occupation, he rushed toward the boy, 
with his hands open, his fingers contracted, rigid, 
eager to squeeze a throat. It was a momentary 
impulse, for the fingers relaxed at once and, push- 
ing Telmo gently toward the doctor, he said in a 
scarcely audible voice: 

“ Take him. But it must be now. Now! 
That is the only condition I make. To-night — 
let him not sleep here. I will obey ! Take him, 
for the sake of God and the Virgin, Senor de 
Moragas ! ” 

“ No ; reflect well, Rojo, before deciding,” said 
Moragas severely. “ You have all night and to- 
morrow to think of it — plenty of time. But once 
you decide, your decision must be final ; for here 


274 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


it will not do to retract, to say yes now and no 
by and by. Therefore reflect upon it, reflect 
upon it.” 

“ I have reflected upon it,” responded Rojo, 
with brusque firmness. “ All I ask is not to have 
the boy another minute here. That favor, at 
least, I think ! ” 

Telmo, half-comprehending, looked alternately 
at his father and at the philanthropist. The 
latter, full of pity, began to make concessions, 
proposing palliations, desiring to soothe the pain 
of the fathers heart that palpitated under the 
edge of the steel. 

“You will see your son whenever you wish, 
and after a time you can even live together 
again,” he whispered to Rojo. “ Your volun- 
tary retirement from the office, your having saved 
two lives by merely saying no, will restore to you 
the respect of honorable people. Why, man, I 
redeem you too, convince yourself of it. If you 
do not do so now, because you are stubborn, 
you will convince yourself before many days. 
Courage; let Telmo know nothing. It is better 
that he should not.” 

Juan Rojo turned round and, approaching his 
son, took his hand and pushed him toward the 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 275 

doctor, who, accepting the gift, seized the boy’s 
hand quickly and warmly. 

“ To-morrow I will send his clothes,” said 
Rojo, in a dull and low but resolute voice. 
“ Take him, Sefior de Moragas. I am willing to 
let him go. Go, Telmo, and remember now 
that you have no father but this gentleman.” 

Telmo wished to say something; his heart 
contracted, half with joy, half with an opposite 
feeling, and without any effort at resistance, he 
allowed himself to be led away by Moragas. 
They emerged into the open air; behind them 
rose the white walls of the cemetery ; before 
them spread the sea ; to the right was the city 
illuminated by innumerable lights. The philan- 
thropist smiled ; unspeakable pride dilated his 
heart ; he drank in the salty breeze ; his step 
was firm, elastic, he seemed to tread on air. 
More powerful than the chief of the state, he 
had just granted two human beings their lives 
and regenerated two others ; and as Telmo 
walked lingeringly and still turned back his head, 
from time to time, to look at the wretched dwell- 
ing, the doctor bent down, threw his arm around 
the boy’s neck, and said tenderly : 

“ Come, my child.” 


EPILOGUE. 


On the eve of the sinister day morning 
dawned in a sky covered with leaden clouds. In 
the afternoon they took on a copperish tinge and 
surged and rolled in the firmament like waves of 
molten metal. The surface of the bay, ruffled 
by a land breeze, assumed, under the gloomy 
canopy of scurrying clouds, metallic tones; and 
instead of the cold wintry winds which had been 
blowing for’ some days past, the city became sud- 
denly enveloped in a sultry stifling atmosphere ; 
the heavy air was stirred by hot gusts and from 
the soil ascended the asphyxiating vapors that 
precede the solano .* 

This hot and terrible wind, which oppresses 
nature as it does the spirit, is of frequent occur- 
rence in Marineda. At its deadly breath vegeta- 
tion seems to wither, the sea shrinks, the light 
becomes livid, and man falls into a profound 
apathy or is seized by a mad vertigo. A dull 
weight oppresses the lungs, and never with 
greater reason than now, could the poet of sorrow 
* Easterly wind. 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 277 

say, with the Hebrew prophet: “My soul beheld 
my life with weariness.” 

The Marinedans observed this atmospheric 
condition and, although it was not unfrequent, it 
seemed to them to have on this occasion some- 
thing of prophetic symbolism. A master-carpen- 
ter, threatened with the loss of the work of the 
court, the regency, and the captaincy general, 
if he refused to accept the horrible commission, 
had hired for the day, at an exorbitant price, 
two wretched workmen who, guarded by the 
police and in the midst of the hisses and abuse of 
the populace, had begun to raise the lugubrious 
framework of the scaffold. The posts being set 
and the steps nailed together, Heaven knows 
how, they put off the rest of the nameless work 
until it could be performed under cover of the 
darkness. They were afraid that the placing 
of the beam and the bench would cost them a 
stoning, or, at least, insult and abuse. 

At the same moment in which the carpenters, 
pretending to have finished, took up their bas- 
kets of tools, and, with heads hanging and faces 
pale with shame, disappeared among suspicious 
by-ways, hoping to come soon to a tavern where 
brandy might give them the necessary courage to 


278 the angular stone. 

return at midnight to finish their task; at the 
same moment in which the Brigadier Cartone 
was entering the prison to take a bundle of cigars 
to the condemned man, and to the condemned 
woman a scapulary of the Virgin, sent her by the 
Brigadier’s lady, at the same moment in which 
the clock of the Marinedan Court, or as they call 
it there, the Palace, sent forth a single, sonorous, 
solemn peal — half-past five — a man, who kept 
in the shadow of the wall, walked by the solitary 
plaza on which looks the grand facade of the 
before-mentioned Palace, and avoiding the prox- 
imity of the sentinels who guard the Captain 
General’s office, slipped through the door of the 
court into the dark passage which gives access to 
the Halls of Justice. 

The porter, when he saw the man, made a sig- 
nificant gesture, as much as to say, ‘T know 
what you have come for,” and taking down from 
the wall a lamp, by whose light he had been read- 
ing a newspaper, preceded the newcomer into the 
lobby leading to the criminal court. 

As they were about to enter the court, the 
newcomer stood still, startled by the sight of the 
rack where the lawyers hang their gowns and 
caps. In the doubtful light and in this place 


THE ANGULAR STONE . 279 

the limp gowns, with their funereal folds, looked 
like black specters of hanged men. Between the 
cap and the gown there was a space which looked 
like a face, and the frill might be taken for a 
hand. Conquering his first instinctive feeling he 
went on. The porter opened the door of the 
court ; applied a match to the gas, and the vivid 
blue-and-yellow flame flashed forth, lighting up 
the apartment brightly. 

“Is it for that?" said the porter, who was a 
little old man, with wheezing voice and trem- 
bling hands. “It would be better for me to 
bring it to you here. There it is too dark for 
you to see anything, and with so many things 
there isn’t room for you even to turn round. 
See, I’ll go and bring everything. Wait.’’ 

The man remained alone, in the temple of the 
law. His gaze wandered wildly around the room, 
which, silent and solitary, had at this moment a 
strange majesty, calculated to inspire respect even 
in the most thoughtless mind. The walls were 
hung in old crimson damask — the fabric of eti- 
quette and official authority in Spain, which har- 
monizes so well with the gilt moldings and 
affords so rich a background to the austere faces 
of the clergy and the magistracy. The armchairs, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


280 

on whose backs of dull gold were carved the scales 
and the avenging sword of Themis, were covered 
with the same material. The cover of the table 
and the tribune of the attorney-general were of 
the same vivid hue. Under the canopy of the 
President, King Alfonso XII., with sallow face, 
libeled by the brush of a bad portrait-painter, 
fixed on the spectator his sad and intelligent 
eyes. The proud arms of Spain, embroidered 
in gold, decorated the backs of the benches cov- 
ered with worn garnet velvet. 

Doubtless as a result of his mental condition 
the man seemed to himself to be wading through 
a pool of blood. The vivid color that sur- 
rounded him inspired him with the desire to tear, 
to pull down — the impulse of the baited bull, 
destructive, ferocious, blind. “If I could tear 
the Hall to pieces !” he thought, while furious 
voices resounded through his disordered brain. 
Reason returned to him, momentarily, at the 
entrance of the porter, who carried two oblong 
boxes. They were the instruments , which are 
kept in the court, hidden away in an obscure 
corner as if they were the evidence of a crime, 
until, on the eve of an execution, the execu- 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


281 


tioner takes them out to arrange them according 
to the rules of the art. 

The porter laid the boxes on the table, not 
without visible repugnance; and Juan Rojo, now 
apparently calm, serious, and intent on acting his 
part, approached and lifted the lid of the box 
with the purpose of examining its contents. 

Under cloths soaked in oil, bright and clean as 
if they had just been polished, lay one of the two 
garrotes — precisely the one which had been mod- 
ified according to Rojo’s directions. This instru- 
ment of death, which it produces at once by 
strangulation and by asphyxia, has the defect 
that the iron axle, which the winch turns, some- 
times slips, and the tourniquet, not crushing the 
vertebrae of the neck and reducing the throat to 
the thinness of paper with the necessary rapidity, 
the agony of the victim may be prolonged for a 
space of time in which may be contained an eter- 
nity of horror. Not so much from this consider- 
ation as through fear of an accident and a conse- 
quent tumult, Juan Rojo had devised an ingeni- 
ous and sure means of fastening the hook which 
secures the lever or winch, and was proud of his 
work. This improved garrote was the first which 


282 THE ANGULAR STONE. 

he examined. Then he examined the second, 
assuring himself that both worked well ; and, clos- 
ing the boxes and wrapping them up in an old 
piece of black serge, he hid them under his cloak 
without uttering a word to the porter who, on 
his side, too, also seemed disinclined for talk. 
Seeing that Rojo had taken up his instruments, 
the old man coughed, spat out, turned off the 
gas, and taking up his smoking lamp silently led 
the way to the door. It was not until Rojo had 
crossed the threshold that he said to the latter, 
in an ironical rather than a friendly tone : 

“Well, good-by. Keep a steady hand. And 
much good may it do you !” 

Rojo did not hear him ; he heard only himself. 
After persistent and delirious insomnia, after 
having substituted drink for food, without suc- 
ceeding in obtaining beneficent intoxication, 
after an entire day spent in revolving the same 
thoughts in the narrow compass of his skull, his 
head aching and ready to burst, Juan Rojo 
still struck against a wall of rock — the impos- 
sibility of disobedience. “The authorities com- 
mand. I cannot refuse to obey! I am a func- 
tionary. They have the right to command me !” 
He remembered his promise, it is true, but what 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 283 

signifies a free, voluntary promise, in comparison 
with the command of one’s superior, with one’s 
obligation ? 

“No, I cannot refuse. Who am I that I 
should refuse?” An unsolvable problem for 
Rojo. 

I am wrong. A solution had occurred to him 
in the solitary and sleepless hours of despair 
when he saw Telmo’s bed empty, the room 
empty, everything, even to the world, empty. 
And in the daytime the solution presented itself 
to him again, clear, simple, consoling, and tre- 
mendous. It was in the afternoon, when the 
first gusts of hot air, like steam from an infernal 
cauldron, stirred the Marinedan atmosphere. 
Rojo had just tied together the corners of an old 
shawl, a shawl which had belonged to his wife, 
and which was to serve Telmo as a trunk for his 
clothes. Juliana had undertaken to carry it to 
the doctor’s house. The sight of those relics of 
the shipwreck of his life evoked in Rojo’s mind 
the memory of anguish past and present. He 
saw again, as if they were actually before him, 
with the lucidity which is acquired in supreme 
moments, Maria and Telmo; but Telmo as he 
was in his mother’s arms, not as he was now; he 


284 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


saw his little chubby hands, emerging from the 
shawl in which he was wrapped, feeling for the 
maternal bosom. Mother and child, thus closely 
united, familiar, full of sweet communicativeness, 
smiled at and caressed each other, but when 
Juan Rojo appeared the picture dissolved, the 
mother cast the child away from her and fled 
from the house, so swiftly that it seemed as if 
she had vanished like smoke into the air. 

“How contrive so as not to disobey and, at the 
same time, to keep my word?” Rojo thought 
again, a few hours afterward, as he walked 
toward his hovel, pressing under his arm the two 
oblong boxes. It was quite dark when he 
entered the room, groping his way — he did not 
wish to make a light — felt for something on the 
table, and laying his burden on it, found what he 
was seeking — a bottle and a glass. He took a 
great gulp and he seemed to comprehend more 
clearly his hard fate, becoming confirmed in the 
conviction that it had no other issue, nor was there 
any other alleviation to hope for. This was the 
only means of fulfilling the obligation which he 
believed himself to have contracted toward the 
law, social justice, and public vengeance — enti- 
ties, offspring of the conscience, and which, for 


THE ANGULAR STONE . 285 

that very reason, cannot rise superior to their 
august progenitor. 

Another swallow — and courage. A cold shud- 
der ran through the veins and made the flesh 
creep of the man whose trade it was to kill. He 
tasted the wormwood of the sudden terror, con- 
fronted it, and succeeded in reconciling himself to 
its bitterness. Bah ! A moment, a few strug- 
gles — less even — the convulsion of a bound human 
body, as a screw enters the vertebrae — death is 
this, nothing more. He muffled himself in his 
cloak and left the house. The bells of a neigh- 
boring chapel were calling to the Rosary ; Rojo 
hesitated at first, then slowly entered, and knelt 
down among the groups of country-women. 
The sacristan, in a snuffling voice, began the 
prayer, but Rojo took no part in it ; he was not 
able to utter a sound and he was sorry for it, for 
he was a believer and he desired to pray then. 
A woman who lived near him recognized him 
and pointed him out to another woman with an 
expression of displeasure and reprobation. Rojo 
felt his blood boil with rage. “Not even here 
will they endure my company, by Heaven! 
Point at me, point at me, you old devil ! 
You’ll not have the chance to do it long.” 


286 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


He left the chapel and, with a tranquil step, 
absorbed in thought, took the road to the Tower. 
The light of the Faro attracted his gaze; there he 
imagined, rather than in the chapel, was an eye 
that looked on him pityingly. After he had pro- 
ceeded a few yards, however, he retraced his steps, 
re-entered the cabin, and took up the bundle 
containing the boxes. Holding them firmly he 
again began the ascent. 

The road was a winding one and, through waste 
fields surrounded with rugged hills, he walked 
toward the promontory where the Phoenician 
Tower rises majestically, justifying its title of 
sentinel of the seas. Nearer and nearer sounded 
the roar of the ocean dashing against the cliffs, 
and a breeze strong, keen, rude as the coast 
itself, beat against Rojo’s gray hair. At the 
foot of the high platform which rests on the cliff 
Rojo stopped, and, instead of ascending the stone 
steps, entered the marshes that lead to the sands 
of Las Animas, which perhaps owes its funereal 
name to the many victims who, every winter, in 
the percebe fishery, lose their lives in this danger- 
ous spot. 

As Rojo was about to set his foot on the sands 
the gloomy and awe-inspiring roar of two huge, 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 287 

hollow waves that, breaking, covered him with 
foam, made him pause, freezing the blood in his 
veins. And the day was not a stormy one, nor 
was the tide even the highest of the equinox; 
but the cove of Las Animas is so formed that the 
ocean, on entering it, feeling itself imprisoned, 
lashed, subjugated, bellows, and leaps up in a 
whirlpool of foam, as if it would scale the 
heavens. 

Juan Rojo was at the same time terrified and 
deafened. The sea with its mysterious white- 
ness near, and its vast colorless expanse in the 
distance, dismayed his soul; and, as the mariner 
throws ballast overboard, he threw into the break- 
ers the boxes which he had been holding under 
his arm. But the waves still kept up their 
hoarse clamor, like a fierce pack of hounds pursu- 
ing their prey. Telmo’s father turned his back to 
the sea and, not seeing it, recovered courage; he 
laid his cloak and hat on a rock ; took a hand- 
kerchief from his pocket, gazed intently for a 
moment at the light of the Faro, then he folded 
the handkerchief and bound it tightly around his 
eyes, so as to cover his ears also, in order not to 
hear the voice of the deep, which might make him 
draw back. And thus, blind and deaf, he walked 


288 


THE ANGULAR STONE. 


forward, with extended arms, until he suddenly 
felt himself enveloped, caught, dragged down, 
and the water, flowing into his lungs, drowned 
his last cry. 


THE END. 

















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